Revolution
by v2point0
Summary: [CURRENTLY ON HIATUS FOR ?] After the events of Legacy, Sam is CEO of ENCOM and alongside Quorra, the two hope to change the very structure of society to see Kevin's dream come true. However, a trip back to the Grid puts them in the middle of a giant power play with unexpected enemies and both new and old friends. - back! but slow lol
1. Prologue

**7/2/12**

It's been over a year since I started this fic. I'm in the process of going through the chapters and cleaning them up a bit. I wanted to also make note that this fanfic excludes anything that happens in the _TRON: Uprising_ series. It's not to say that I don't like it, but more so I started this fic way before it came out and, upon watching _Uprising_, _a lot_ of it (even in the first five minutes!) conflicts with _Revolution_. If I were to fit _Uprising_ into this story, I'd basically have to rewrite pretty much everything! So, just an fyi, if things you feel conflict in this fanfic with canon in _Uprising_, you'll know why. Perhaps I may borrow characters or the like from the show, but pretty much, _Revolution_ excludes the _Uprising_ canon and takes place in a universe combined with settings and characters _only_ from _TRON, TRON 2.0, TRON: Betrayal, TRON: Evolution_, and _TRON: Legacy._

* * *

This may be a bit too early, but it's about the only Tron fic I've written in the past few months that could probably fit with the site's TOS...

Okay, so, I had this idea for a sequel for _Tron: Legacy_ that sort of expanded and went BOOM. And I ended up writing out the basic storylines for each chapter. I know there's a sequel all ready in the works, but I figured I'd have fun with it. In my own style, with my own spin and ideas. And to distract me from that painful ending, baw.

Anyway, here is the prologue. I would say chapter one, but this feels more introductory than anything else.

**Title**: Revolution  
**Rating**: PG-13; subject to change  
Prologue  
**Warnings**: profanity, violence, blanket spoilers for entire _Tron_ series, especially _Legacy_; _Uprising_ is the only excluded universe; more to be added, maybe  
**Summary**: After the events of _Legacy_, Sam is CEO of ENCOM and together with Quorra, they hope to change the very structure of human society to see Kevin's dream through. However, in order to gain closure from the tragedy, they return to the Grid, only to find themselves in the middle of chaos and a power play between the remainder of Clu's army, those fighting to return the system back to its glory and a rather unexpected group more closer to home than Sam and the others expected.  
**A/N**: New characters will be presented throughout the story, but hardly any of them are actually OCs. Save, perhaps, one or two. Maaaaybe. To stay more true to canon, there is no slash and most romances are all canonical or hinted. Any further notes that are chapter specific will be placed at the end. Please note that while there is a general story to this, it's really nothing intricate. (Like the real movies, you could say.) This was written for all my _Tron_ homies, **rottendeadpan at deviantART/ohhicas at tumblr** included. I really hope you enjoy and feedback is _wonderful_. **FLAMES **you are free to leave, 'tis free speech, but it'd be totes cool if you could pass 'em on to CrowTCickATaolDOTcom instead. :-*  
**Disclaimer**: None of this Tron stuff belongs to me. I'm just writing fanfic.

* * *

**Prologue_  
_**

* * *

_The nightmare is always vivid._

_It's almost like a memory replaying itself. Many times, there are hardly any inconsistencies, any differences added or removed by his troubled psyche._

_Either way, the nightmare is always the same._

_Sam is screaming, tears in his eyes swept away by the energy surrounding him. He's looking at his father, so close, so Goddamn close. But the man is a million miles away from where he now stands. Quorra's fingers dip into his sides, and she is shaking. She won't stop looking at her mentor, and Sam can tell she's breaking as well. Still, it's Kevin's last wish, for them to return home, to change the very structure of humanity, just as he always wanted._

_Clu II is snarling, fighting against the User's generated wind. His fingers manage to slip into the tunnel of light, a fierce grimace on his face. He's tough, maybe too tough, and Sam knows he can't do anything. If either he or Quorra were to move to fight him off, it would risk their chance of getting home._

_Kevin manages to gain the upper-hand, becoming the God-like User he once was. Clu screams bitterly as his body is thrown away, tossed back by the wind. Sam watches in awe and terror as Kevin smiles at him, a smile so proud and so sad, then opens his arms and embraces Clu. The last thing Sam sees is a brilliant explosion of silver and white light. The last thing he hears is the total destruction of the armada ship. The last thing he says -_

Sam bolted to a sit, eyes wide and startled as he screamed his father's name into the dark room. Immediately, a hand is around his arm, squeezing.

"Sam!"

Sam was frozen, locked into place. It was always the same, the end of the nightmare and the reboot to consciousness. He had sat up, called his father and then, a minute of his mind catching up with the situation.

Quorra was always a constant. It was her tender words of comfort, the real touch of her hand rubbing his arm that brought him back up from oblivion. Sam took a deep breath, finally blinking in what felt like ages. He sagged a little, licked his dry lips. His shirt clung to his chest, soaked in sweat, beads of it running down his pale face. He was panting, chest aching with each heave.

Quorra frowned, sitting beside him. "Hey, hey," she murmured, "it's okay."

Sam gulped, throat burning. "Dry..."

Quorra gathered from the bed, quickly fetching water from the sink. It was strange seeing her in pajamas, when at one point in time he had begun to believe Program and ISO uniforms were part of their flesh. She wore a pair of boxers and a pink tank top, but her circuitry remained, still beautiful and patterned around her limbs. Quorra had to be careful to cover them up. Her complexion had tanned a little, appearing more human; her hair had grown out, just a few inches. But the color of Quorra's eyes remained their same ethereal hue.

Quorra sat beside him, offered the glass. He swallowed the whole thing down in three gulps, inhaling much needed air. They sat in silence for a few minutes. Sam stared into his empty cup, the ISO patting and rubbing his back.

"That's the fourth time this week," Sam mumbled.

"I know." Quorra used the corner of the blanket to wipe the sweat from his face. "Was it... different this time? At all?"

Sam shook his head. "No," he said. His eyes fell back to his lap. "Always the same. Always watching my dad..." Her wince disturbed him. He knew she was hurting, maybe more than him, considering she knew his father, unfortunately, more than he ever did. With a sigh, Sam swept his hand through his hair, pushing it up. "I dunno. I guess it's normal. I just wish it would end. You'd think almost a month of the same recurring nightmare it would finally give up and move on. Maybe replace itself with something work related."

"I do not know how dreams work," Quorra said. She took his cheeks in her hands, lifted to kiss a temple. "I wish there was a way to merely delete them, like a bad bug."

Sam chuckled. "Yeah, me too." He paused a moment, looked at Quorra. His smile was gentle, but the look in his eyes tired. "Hey, how 'bout, to get me back to sleep, you tell me about your first dream."

The ISO blinked. "Again?"

"Yeah," he said. Sam slipped back into the covers, resting his head on his pillow. It was still a little damp. Quorra followed him down. "I liked it. It was really beautiful. You were so happy when you told me about it, you started crying." The overjoyed tears in her eyes, her large, happy grin, that had been more touching. "One of the few rare things that's happened to you since you left the Grid."

Quorra gushed. "All right then." She scooted closer, laying right against her partner. Sam stretched out an arm, letting her lay her head into the crook of his elbow and chest. "It started out real bright. It reminded me of the I/O tower, when we left the Grid," she explained, placing a hand over his heart. She loved to feel its beat, so foreign but beautiful.

Sam grinned, nodded. "Mmhmm." He closed his eyes, relaxing.

"Then the light faded. We were standing side by side on a beach. There were shells everywhere; they had shapes like diamonds and spades, and some that were all together unique. Their colors were infinite. The sun was setting. I was worried, asking if the sun would rise again. You told me it always did, and it always will. We walked along the shore, sand warm between our toes and you told me such strange, ridiculous stories," she giggled. "As we walked, we didn't notice the setting change. We were in a field now, an open field of green grass and cloudy skies and it was windy. You told me more stories, and I laughed so hard my stomach hurt."

"Heh..."

Quorra continued: "We walked down a steep hill until we were in the ruins of an old city. Flowers formed spirals in the ground. Purple ones, pink ones, red ones, yellow ones. You said these were carnations and lilies and roses. There was a small blue house at the far end, and you said it was 'home'. And that we 'were expected'. So we ran, and we were there in only a matter of... seconds?"

"Seconds, yes." He was getting drowsy, the smile melting from his tired face.

"We opened the door. Inside, it was beautiful. The walls were blue, and so was the furniture, but the ceiling was made of clouds," Quorra said, "and the floor was green like the grass outside. And we had guests, and the guests welcomed us with hugs and handshakes. We ate food, food with no name in your world, but it was delicious and it made us sleepy..."

She paused then, waited for a response. When nothing came, Quorra slowly raised her head. Sam was fast asleep, breathing unevenly. Still, he looked at peace. She frowned, brows knitting and laid her head down again, this time over his heart. She listened to it beat - _lub dub lub dub _- and felt every rise and fall.

Quorra had told him she did not remember the faces of the guests. Told Sam they were strangers neither of them knew. "But that's a lie," she whispered, voice so tiny. She shut her eyes, nestled against his chest, like a child seeking the warmth of their mother.

She vividly remembered the guests. In fact, there was only one. It was Kevin, and he was young, almost looking as Clu did. Kevin was happy and he hugged his son and told him how proud he was. Kevin would sit and tell stories and Sam and Quorra would laugh.

Quorra did not tell him this, nor would she ever, not if she could help it. Sam had told her about heartbreak when they watched some cheesy movie on TV. It sounded awful and painful. If anything, Quorra would not let Sam's heart break. She listened to it beat beneath an ear, laid awake and tried not to think what it would be like if nothing came but silence.

* * *

III

* * *

Being the CEO of a big company meant no more being reckless and irresponsible.

To an extent, maybe.

It was strange, driving the actual speed limit. Especially when traffic was rather light and slow. Though as Sam cruised on his bike down the freeway, he at least got to admire the scenery. It seemed to be shaping up to a rather nice day, weather-wise. There were a few scattered clouds, but it was mostly sunny blue skies.

Nothing like the world beyond. The Grid had no sun, its mist clouds perhaps projections. Nature was probably useless, the exact opposite of its power here. An endless black night, but the cities were its stars. It was hard to believe those very stars were under the power of a man so mad and ruthless. Still, from a distance, Sam could admire the world for what it was. As empty as it felt sometimes, as barren as the dead sea, the Grid was beautiful. Here, however, the buildings were all pale, gray, simplistic, streets worn and cracked, and Sam quickly reminded himself to keep eyes on the road.

The Grid was beautiful, beautiful but broken, yet this place, this was home. And to Kevin, it once was home, too. There would be no changing that. Kevin had assured Sam when he was just a child barely reaching his father's waist in height, that no matter how breathtaking the digital world was, this city was still his home and wherever Sam was, would always be as well.

When Sam arrived ten minutes later, ENCOM was hustling and bustling with life. A few stopped, waved and greeted him warmly before heading back to work. Sam waltzed into the lobby outside his office, secretary looking up from filing her nails. Though he had new rules to play by now, there was no way in Hell was going to wear stiff suits. Instead, he was still in his jeans and band shirt, leather jacket on and helmet beneath an arm.

"Mornin', Teresa," Sam greeted, tossing his helmet at her. The secretary jumped and caught it, having become accustomed to such routine.

"Mr. Bradley is waiting for you in your office, sir."

Sam nodded and entered his office; it belonged to his father at one point in time. It was big and fancy, though he had missed the video game posters on the walls. The first time he visited his father's office, it felt like he was in his own bedroom. Now it was all business, too practical and boring.

Alan turned from looking out the window, smiling. "Hey, Alan," Sam said, threw his leather jacket on the back of his chair. "You look bright eyed and bushy-tailed." He plopped into his seat. "It's sick."

Alan chuckled. "I thought you'd never adjust to waking up in the morning," he teased.

Sam scowled at the number of messages on his phone. He threw a piece of paper over it. "Any special reason you've come up to see me?" he asked. "Besides with more work, I've got plenty of that right now."

"Not really," Alan said. He took a seat in one of the chairs facing the front of the desk. "It's been a few weeks, and we haven't spoken in a couple days," he explained. "I wanted to see how you're doing."

Sam lounged back. "Peachy," he assured, "and believe me, if there was any trouble, you'd be the first guy to know."

Alan chuckled. "I hope you don't think I'm trying to fret and coddle you," he said, "I just know this - running an entire company business - is a very big responsibility."

"I can handle it." Sam paused, his smile faltering a little. "Dad would want me to see this company thrive." He looked toward the window, at one small ray of sunshine dim behind a cloud. "It took me a while to realize that, but..."

Alan could feel the burden, too. He sat forward, hands together. "You're doing marvelous," he hummed, "I've no doubt you'll keep up the good work."

Sam smirked. "Yeah. Thanks." He sighed and pulled himself closer to the desk. "I still hate this paperwork. Digital or not, it's still paperwork." His fingers scrambled along the built in keyboard on his desk, files opening and flourishing. "I mean, can't we _hire_ someone to push the papers?"

"I'm afraid not," Alan snickered. He snapped his fingers. "Right, yes, I meant to tell you: the employee overhaul is finally over. We've filled all recently vacated spots."

"I trust you picked out some reliable and trustworthy people," Sam snorted, "unlike Rich and Eddie."

Alan winked. "You can count on me, boss." He leaned over the desk, quickly hitting a few buttons. "In fact, you can see for yourself. I've compiled a list of the new employees' files and records." At his word, a folder popped up and opened. "There are even a couple who were laid off after..." He licked his lips, finger sliding open a file. "After Edward and Richard took over." The file popped up, paragraphs of text and data coupled with the picture of a smiling woman.

"I see," Sam replied. He flipped through the profiles, easily sliding them away like cards. He hadn't read anything, just skimmed. He'd give them all a complete look over by the end of the day. Sam had just been about through the records when something caught his eye. Quickly, he pushed two profiles back, until retrieving the one that demanded his attention.

Roy Kleinberg, former ENCOM employee since 1982, laid off in 1990. There was a whole list of his history, previous work experience and a video tagged of Alan and his interview. But it was his face that really trapped Sam. He couldn't put his finger on it, but it looked oddly familiar. "Hey," Sam mumbled, drumming a finger below the picture. "Who is this? He's a former employee, so I figure you might know him."

Alan adjusted his glasses and smiled. "Aw, yes, Roy," he chuckled. "He's one of our new accountants; well, shouldn't say new-new. I worked with him for a few years back when Dillinger and then-Kevin had the company." He sat back, folded his arms over his chest. "He kept stealing popcorn from my popcorn machine."

Sam nodded. "But I mean, I don't recall ever meeting the guy. Yet..." He tilted his head, squinted his eyes. "I've seen him _somewhere_ before."

"Ram."

Sam looked up, wide eyed. "For the game TRON," Alan explained, "Kevin apparently got a copy of Roy's old actuarial insurance program and used it to give personality aspects to the in-game Ram. Don't ask me how he did that; guess he just assumed the personality of what an actuary would be like. Roy allowed him to use his likeliness for the character. Even called Roy Ram from time to time."

Sam cursed. "How could I forget," he grumbled, quickly closing the file. "He was one of the players you could choose from. I played as him only a few times, but I remember I had a toy of him, too."

"He was a fan favorite," Alan chuckled. "Though he was one of the more limited characters to play. You had to unlock him in some versions."

Sam sneered. "Why, Alan, it sounds like you've been around the game platform a few times yourself."

Alan rolled his eyes. "I played TRON, of course. I mean, the name and basic storyline is based off my own program and its functions," he snorted. "If I didn't play it, Kevin would have probably never spoken to me again." He quickly regretted his last words, debating a change of topic and fast.

Sam, however, seemed unaffected. "In any case," he said, closing the employee files. He popped open a new window, displaying the first draft of an intricate game disc, similar to that of the identity discs. "I've been helping the designer boys downstairs with a few ideas. TRON was very limited in weaponry. And also, this idea to use your _identity_ discs to fight?" He chortled and shook his head. "_That_ has to go."

Alan pulled his chair forward; with a tap of his finger, he flipped the image around. "Well," he said, beaming, "I'm all constructive ears."

* * *

III

* * *

_I don't feel I need to explain the details of meditation, or the chakras, the positions and whatnot. You read all about them. Two volumes, actually. So why waste my breath, eh? Anyway, it seems kind of easy, just going into a meditative state, from the books you've read. And in a way, once you catch on, it is. But for beginners, not so much I can imagine. The easy steps would be: get into position. Sitting is fine if you like. Close your eyes. Focus on one thing, something pleasant, and then let the world drown away. Breathing is what I like to concentrate on, but I can imagine that's not necessary for you. But once you've reached that state of higher awareness, man, even the Grid seems juvenile and primitive._

When Quorra first took a gulp of _real User_ air, it was like a flood of raw power had coursed through her system. It left her shaky and lightheaded, this new sensation.

Quorra took a deep breath, folding her body into _padmasana_. She overlooked her surroundings from her spot on the roof, taking everything in. The air was salty this morning, a warm breeze blowing in from the ocean. She could smell the city, the gasoline, and the smoke. The wind on her cheeks was gentle, easing her into meditation. The noise eventually faded; the sirens of police cars, the chatter of the neighbors down the street. All that mattered now was the ocean rocking, distant but now surrounding her mind in its gentle waves.

When she faded to become one with the air that the humans treasured, Quorra lost track of time. It might have been minutes, or hours. Time was irrelevant, time was unimportant. Still, so deep in her meditation, she had not heard the scraping footfalls approaching her, the sound weight shifting to a sit beside her.

Quorra continued into meditation, undistributed. It was the faint touch of a hand on her shoulder that slowly cracked her eyes open, her so-called spirit returning to her physical form. She blinked and looked beside her.

Sam smiled. "I didn't mean to wake you," he said, "but aren't you cold?"

"I'm okay," Quorra said. She stretched her legs out along the roof shingles, sighing as her shoulders rolled back.

Sam nodded. "So, did you look over the files?"

"Yes."

"Do they meet your approval?"

Quorra looked him in the eyes before casting her gaze downward. Her smile remained, but weakened. "Yes," she murmured, "I think you made the best decisions."

Sam could instantly sense her reluctance. "You know," he said, "if you don't like them, you can tell me."

"No!" Quorra sputtered. She bit the corner of her lip, embarrassed. "Sorry." She shook her head. "No, they all seem trustworthy. After all, they worked with Kevin and the people who helped raise you." Quorra tilted her head. "The one named Walter. His file said he created the digitizer."

Sam chuckled. "That's right," he replied, "alongside my Aunt Lora." His face softened, an expression that told the ISO she could tell him anything. "If you do approve of the guys I chose, then what's bothering you?"

Quorra frowned. "I don't mean to bother..."

"You won't."

"It's just..." she sighed, hands folded and palm up in her lap. "I fear, in the end, I won't be able to help. Kevin placed so much faith in this project, and what if I... my... DNA, right? What if we fail?" Her big, dark eyes met his again; she looked so scared, almost fragile. "My disc... it's lost in the Grid, perhaps gone. The backup we made on Kevin's system may be insufficient. I still don't bleed, nor preform many of the body functions humans do. I'm still an ISO here in your world, with just a few minor changes."

Sam scooted closer. "I wouldn't worry about that," he said. "And even if everything fails, so what?" He shrugged, grinned at the heavens. "Dad wouldn't hold it against you. Even if we tried and failed a thousand times, he would not be angry or disappointed." He gently nicked her on the shoulder. "If we don't try, however, then we should feel guilty."

Quorra grinned weakly. "I suppose you're right," she mumbled. She relaxed a little, leaned against Sam. The light had returned to her eyes. "So, how about you tell me about your... day, right?"

"It's 'day', yes," Sam chuckled. "Went rather well. We got new employees in. Flushed out the crap, so to speak." She blinked, and he knew she wouldn't get the reference. "Out with the old, in with the new. It's starting to feel like the company my dad once ran. Where he had employees he could trust and confide in."

Quorra beamed. "I'm sure he's very happy."

Sam had no doubt about that. Ever since he returned from his fateful journey in the Grid, he had changed. Into a man his father would be proud of. Even then he knew, no matter what, Kevin would always love him. This route seemed forced at one point in time, obligatory. There was a time where Sam refused to take the reigns simply to spite his old man, but that was ages ago. Now he wished he had stepped up sooner.

Still, Quorra could see the forlorn look in his eyes and lazy smile. She tilted her head against his, knocking him out of his nostalgic daze. "Anything else interesting?" she asked. "Did you show Alan your primitive disc designs?"

"As a matter of fact, I did," Sam smirked, proudly. "We're going to present them to the designers tomorrow. It surprised me they were interested in doing a follow-up to TRON after so many years."

The ISO giggled. "I just wish we had those primitive discs around during my time."

Sam laughed, looked down at her. "Who knows?" he said. "You might even have a character made after you."

Quorra sat up, gaping. "R-Really?" she exclaimed, eyes sparkling. "I-I'd be honored!"

"Really!" he laughed, her enthusiasm contagious. "But that reminds me," he said, straightened, "we re-hired the guy who made Ram. Ram was apparently in the game, and my dad said during his time in the Grid the first go-round, the very same Program had helped him escape the MCP with Tron."

Quorra nodded. "Kevin spoke of Ram on a few occasions," she explained. Her eyes drifted away. "I can't say they were all pleasant stories."

Sam frowned. "Did he..."

"Your father," she toiled her hands in her lap, "installed an updated Ram in the Grid as well." Sam's eyes widened. "He apparently helped fight Clu, but I never met him. And he..."

Quorra needn't finish. Sam nodded slowly. "I see..." He stood abruptly, wiping the rear of his jeans. "How long you gonna be up here, Buddha?"

The ISO chuckled. "Ten more minutes?"

"Then," Sam mumbled, shrugged off his jacket. He draped it over her shoulders. "Wear this. You may not feel cold now, but I'm not risking you getting sick so soon outside the Grid."

Quorra pulled the jacket around her. "I don't need babying," she teased and stuck out her tongue.

"Yeah, yeah."

The ISO watched him climb down from the rooftop, the door to the house opening and closing. She turned her eyes back to the distant city, but found she was too troubled to continue meditation.

* * *

III

* * *

It was always a back-up plan. There was nothing wrong with having those in case of... fall-outs.

They had been exchanging letters for nearly a month now. The sender never went by a whole name. Always signed with an _E_ and nothing more. Not that Edward could blame her, considering the content of many of their letters. However, he had covered his tracks as well. There was no denying they had as well. But neither had a reason, yet, to turn on the other.

After all, his father had been in cahoots with Future Control Industries some years back before his passing.

FCon was a rather shady, notorious company, more secretive than ENCOM itself. In a world of power, they were second behind ENCOM. Something Edward knew they despised quite a bit. After all, the companies were rivals. Though evidence of fCon's hand never surfaced, it was always a bit peculiar that companies that fCon found as rising threats or competition would soon somehow plummet or run out of business.

Edward had considered taking a position at fCon. ENCOM would pay more, offer more, but it was run by a bunch of bleeding hearts who concerned themselves more with the public than their finances. Maybe that made him coldhearted, but it was money that you survived on, not the warm fuzzy feeling of good karma. Somehow they had managed to thrive, however, but he knew they could do so much better if they just put their emotions in the backseat for once.

That was until Kevin Flynn suddenly vanished out of thin air.

ENCOM lost its inspiration, its heart, almost, and soon grew bitter and world weary. It was the perfect time for Edward to step in. The bad taste his father had left behind had long since worn and faded. They were desperate for a new genius to steer their company back to its former glory. And since Kevin's son was too busy stewing in his angst and misery, and Alan never had the chance for promotion, what better way to bring the Dillinger name back to the top of ENCOM?

Over the years, Edward started small, ruthlessly climbed to the top. He became something of the new golden boy, and if employees didn't honor him, they feared him. He was sure most of the company hated him, most out of jealousy, some, like Alan, who were still too busy thinking with their hearts instead of their brains. That never bothered Edward, however; as long as his peers didn't challenge him, he was content with the opinions held over him.

But things were changing, and not in his interest. Alan was becoming more outspoken, and Sam more involved. The bastard didn't want the company, but he still had the power. Why he bothered at all irritated Edward immensely. It was he who was keeping ENCOM afloat, even if his methods were not necessarily the more favored. Sam played some Robin Hood who couldn't decide if he wanted to stay or go. And the idea of someone as flighty as him as CEO was laughable and ridiculous.

FCon, on the other hand, seemed relatively quiet on their end. ENCOM had butted heads with them in the past, but never dangerously. There was never actually any real fear or threat. FCon was a machine, but it needed the power and fuel to run. The people were intelligent, but not enough to surpass the genius at ENCOM. If anything, they were sheep who needed a shepherd.

It was quite the timing then that they started sending emails to Edward in his time of doubt. They had noticed him, and now they wanted to be noticed.

They presented ideas, theories, offers and anything that would persuade Edward to leave ENCOM and join their forces. It was all rather amusing at first, but soon the letters began to intrigue and he found himself responding back. But as much as he loathed how ENCOM still ran on various levels, his position was safe, secure and above all, wealthy.

Until Sam decided he finally wanted to be responsible and Edward was kicked to the curb. It wasn't because he just wasn't well liked by the kid. More so, the company was to shift back to its roots, and Edward simply did not fit in. He couldn't blame their decision, considering he would have left ENCOM sooner or later now that Sam was the head honcho.

The day after Edward received his final paycheck, fCon sent another email. Though usually always cryptic, this one was even more so.

_12 NOON.  
E._

Didn't take a genius to figure out what they wanted. Edward smirked as he looked over the simple message. So, they finally wanted to meet him face to face. Before, they were content with letters, emails and the occasional phone call. Neither found it would be wise to meet up, especially in public, considering their positions. Now Edward had nothing to lose, and they had much to gain.

Edward filed the email away, alongside the others. He retreated to his bedroom to do a little thinking.

* * *

III

* * *

_The nightmare is always vivid._

_It's almost like a memory replaying itself. Many times, there are hardly any inconsistencies, any differences added or removed by his troubled psyche._

_Either way, the nightmare is always the same._

_Sam is screaming, tears in his eyes swept away by the energy surrounding him. He's looking at his father, so close, so Goddamn close. But the man is a million miles away from where he now stands. Quorra's fingers dip into his sides, and she is shaking. She won't stop looking at her mentor, and Sam can tell she's breaking as well. Still, it's Kevin's last wish, for them to return home, to change the very society of humanity, just as he always wanted._

_Clu II is snarling, fighting against the User's generated wind. His fingers manage to slip into the tunnel of light, a fierce grimace on his face. He's tough, maybe too tough, and Sam knows he can't do anything. If either he or Quorra were to move to fight him off, it would risk their chance of getting home._

_Kevin manages to gain the upper-hand, becoming the God-like User he once was. Clu screams bitterly as his body is thrown away, tossed by the wind._

_It's different now, shockingly so, like a curveball to the solar plexus. Instead of screaming in terror, calling for his dad, Sam is smiling. He is fucking smiling as if he's having the time of his life. He laughs at his dad, who now bears the shock and horror. He's laughing because his father deserves this, deserves to die, for abandoning him, for the years of suffering and loneliness. It didn't matter if it was choice to stay or not, he left his son broken and lost. It's only right - and Sam's cackling - that he feel this anguish as_

"Sam!"

Sam woke with a twist and scream, writhing in his blankets. He shoved them off as if they were constricting him, hands momentarily flailing in the darkness. A light switched on and then Quorra was pinning him down to the bed. He struggled briefly, still crying out, until her worried face was no longer a blur. Sam choked, took a deep breath; his heart was pounding in his chest, blood throbbing in his ears, and he felt hot and cold chills course down his spine.

When he settled enough, Quorra spoke again. "Sam," she breathed, "Sam, what happened?" Her hands loosened around his forearms. "Your nightmare... This is the worst they've been."

Sam swallowed a few times, struggling to stop the tremors. Quorra let him go and he scrubbed his face in his hands. She remained by his side, but waited patiently for him to talk when he was ready. A minute later, Sam sat up, swung aching legs over the side of the bed. "Christ," he croaked, raking a hand through his hair. He was soaked in sweat again.

"The nightmare was different."

Sam nodded, blinked his eyes. They were teary but he refused to cry. "I can't describe..." He shook his head. "Quorra, I was." He grinned wryly, angrily. "I was _happy_ my dad was dying. In the nightmare, I... I don't know how, but it felt like, like he deserved it for what he did, but he..." His face dropped back into his hands. "Christ, just. _Fuck_."

Quorra frowned, carefully taking a seat beside him. "Do you still feel that way?" she whispered.

"No! What? No!" Sam barked. The ISO winced and he quickly groaned with regret. "Sorry. But no, no. I don't - no. I don't feel... happy that he's..." It hurt to continue, it hurt to remember the way he smiled and laughed and looked in the nightmare. He sat up, slapped hands on his knees. "I just... I don't know."

Quorra watched as Sam stood and walked to the conjoined bathroom. The door slammed and she listened to the running of water, the sound of his grunts as he splashed and washed his face. Soon there came a retch and Quorra winced as the nausea finally overtook him. She gathered to her feet, opened the nightstand drawer.

A single blinking light in the darkness of the drawer. She removed the memory stick dangling on the solid chain, turned it in her fingers. Once backside up, Quorra stared at the blinking light. A heartbeat, almost, something the iso had found she could no longer live without. She caressed a finger over the light, imagined the same pulsing as Sam's heart she often listened to like a lullaby to sleep.

Quorra looked to the door when the toilet flushed and water ran again. Eyes back on the memory stick, on that blue heartbeat...

Sam gazed up from the sink, water dripping off his face. Quorra stood in the doorway, nervous and tense. But her eyes were full of determination. "I think I figured it out," she said.

Sam blinked. "What?"

"You need closure." Her words stung him almost, and he looked away, turning off the water. Quorra stepped beside him. "The way it ended, the way you parted..." She squeezed the memory stick and held it to Sam. He looked between it and her, took it and ran a thumb over the blue light.

"I think," the ISO said firmly, "we should find your closure."

* * *

III

* * *

In size, Future Control Industries was smaller than ENCOM, but the shadow it cast was looming. All the windows were tinted, the front doors hardly inviting. When Edward stepped into the building the first time, he was surprised at the choice of color scheme. The mighty fCon symbol hung like a plaque in the lobby, the walls colored a royal purple with shades of rich red. The furnishings appeared to be all black and leather and something stiff and square-shaped.

Edward found his simple steel gray suit fit in nicely. The place smelt like a strong cologne, all debonair and flare. Before he even had to announce his presence to the pale, blank faced secretary, she gestured to the door to her right.

"Miss Popoff is expecting you, Mister Dillinger. Floor 10."

Edward's brows climbed in amusement. He gave his tie a little tug before making his way through the door. An elevator was waiting, its doors opened, as if it, too, was expecting his arrival. He punched the 10th floor button, sending the doors creaking shut. The elevator matched the color scheme, but there was no friendly, if obnoxious, smooth jazz playing.

Edward stepped out into a great corridor. The walls were more red than purple, the carpet the same hue with a repetitive fCon insignia design paving toward the two tall doors at the very end. Another secretary was waiting; she looked up at him briefly then went back to her phone call.

Taking that as permission to go ahead and enter, Edward pushed open the doors and stepped inside. The office was different from the rest of the building. The walls were dark blue, but the carpet remained a soft red. There was a sleek black oval table with a row of chairs, seated before a luxurious looking desk. Across the room, a wall that was nothing but window, heavy curtains parted to show the city below.

"Isn't this fancy," Edward chuckled, making his way inside.

"I am glad to hear you think so."

A tall woman emerged from the shadows across the room. She wore a fancy but simple brown suit with skirt, her short, styled hair a plum red that almost matched the interior of the building. She smiled thin ruby lips and approached Edward, offering her hand. "I am glad you were able to make it," she purred, "I am Eva Popoff. Please, call me Eva."

"My friend E then," Edward chuckled and she nodded. They shook hands for a second before he walked away, taking everything in. "Your last message seemed rather urgent."

"I do hope we didn't rush you," Eva hummed. "It is just, we figured since your unfortunate departure from ENCOM, now was the perfect time to meet face to face."

Edward smirked. "Ah, yes. What is it you expect of me?" He turned to her, smile suave. "Do you expect me to come here and spill all of the secrets I have gathered?"

Eva giggled. "Heavens no," she said. "We are not so petty." She gestured to the nearby chairs, both sitting. "No, rather, fCon has been monitoring your work at ENCOM for a while. We see great promise in you. It was a pity that ENCOM had chosen to downplay your skills and abilities."

Edward sat back in the chair, folded leg over the other. "So you admit to spying?"

"As you know, Mister Dillinger - "

" - Call me Edward."

"Oh? Not Junior?"

"I don't care for the 'Junior' much," Edward sneered.

Eva smiled. "As you know, Edward, the business we're in requires competition. That's how companies like us thrive. We must always be one step ahead of our rivals," she purred. "FCon may be no ENCOM, but we are not without our powers and specialties."

"I am very aware of this, as you said," Edward replied. He folded his hands together. "But what do you want of me?"

"Isn't it obvious? We would like you to join fCon."

Edward nodded. "Your letters suggested such," he said. "I take it this is our interview?"

"We require no formal interview. We know your credentials, your past work experience, everything, naturally," Eva chuckled. "And it is no small offer we are making." She sat forward, grinning wickedly. "We would like you to take the mantle of CEO."

Edward's eyebrows perked. "A promotion, and I haven't officially been hired," he chortled. "It sounds a bit _too_ good, don't you think?"

"We realize this quick move may seem suspicious," she stated, "but we at fCon have admired your work, and feel you are the best qualified since our previous CEO retired." Eva sat back, arms raised. "In fact, your father had worked previously at fCon before his retirement. I'm sure you know of this, but thanks to some of his... observations during his stay at ENCOM, fCon has made many breakthroughs in the technological world ENCOM mostly overlooked due to its inflated ego."

Edward squinted. "You mentioned these advancements and tools in passing," he said, "but you have yet to support your claim with any evidence. Future Control Industries has released only products that can be purchased for better quality from ENCOM."

Eva scowled. "I couldn't ruin the fun in letters, Edward." She smiled again. "Besides, it'd be much better to show you them, don't you think?"

"I'd like to think with these products you boast of, you would have released them on the market to trump ENCOM," Edward said coldly.

"They are still undergoing test runs," Eva replied. "But I can assure you, we back our words with action and evidence." She sat back, manicured fingers steepling together. "In fact, we are rather proud of one of our more recently completed inventions. It's been in the works for nearly twenty years now, but we believe we have achieved our desired goals."

"And that would be?"

Eva chuckled. "I will let you consider our offer before answering any further questions." She raised a finger quickly. "But." Her smile had turned devious. "It is the key to a future mankind has never known. This much I will tell you. Think it over, think of what we have to offer to you and how much you will benefit."

Edward smirked. "You sound like Flynn and his _Digital Frontier_ theories," he said and stood. "I will believe in these so-called technological advancements when I am presented proof. However." Now he was the one smiling, reflecting her own perfectly. "I will happily consider your offer and get back to you as soon as possible."

Eva stood and the two shook hands. "I hope to hear from you soon," she said, "it would be such a pity to have you waste away at some desk job for a simple software company. Here at Future Control Industries," she pulled free her hand and gestured to the giant fCon symbol on the wall, "the possibilities are endless."

* * *

T/B/C

* * *

**A/N**:  
Future Control Industries and Eva Popoff are "canonical" characters from the game, _Tron 2.0_. You will see more characters appear from this series, but keep in mind, since I don't play vidya games and the comics are deviate even farther from the 2.0 game canon, their personalities are basically taken from their official profiles mixed up in heaping amounts of my own twist/take on them. Eva especially. A quick skip over to the Tron wiki (**tron . wikia . com**) will give you more info.

The primitive disc is also from _Tron 2.0_, but known as the disk primitive.

I'm not entirely happy with Eva and Edward's exchange; seemed a little weak. But, hey, this is a fanfic, not a screenplay up for consideration by Disney.


	2. Chapter 1

Thanks to everyone who reviewed, faved and added this story to their alerts! It is really flattering, and I'm so happy you're enjoying it so far! I've decided to try and update once a week. I just hope the story continues to interest and hold your attention!

* * *

**CHAPTER 1**

* * *

The Grid was in utter chaos.

TRON City, perhaps, the heart of destruction.

Clu's death had been one thing, but when information spread the Creator had been alive, only to die taking down Clu, fear went rapid. The iron fist had been opened, and now law meant nothing in this world. Riots broke free, tearing through the streets, Programs doing whatever they pleased. Buildings were torn down, ruin spread fast like a plague through the city. Tron was dead, Clu was dead, their Creator was dead. It might as well have been the beginning of the Apocalypse.

There were divisions split into three now that the system was without ruler. Those who fought for the Users, seeking to end the madness and re-organize society. Those who wanted nothing but anarchy and followed no one but their own whims and desires. And those who were loyal to Clu, most reprogrammed to remain his servants until they derezzed.

It was a month of sheer insanity. The games had been suspended; now the killing and fighting took to the streets, to the world beyond. The Programs in blue had stepped down to regroup, to find a better way to tackle the problem. Using force had proved to only breed more rebelling; now it required both brains and brawn.

They were not the only ones.

Clu's tower had laid dormant through the month, no one going in, no one coming out. But then the lights returned, a twisted beacon in the middle of the city. Moments later, Black Guards and Clu loyalists flooded through TRON City like a herd of roaring beasts. While those who wanted to keep peace refused to derezz anyone, those who did not back down were immediately destroyed. Programs who surrendered were taken away or simply set free.

For a while, the Black Guard simply killed to kill. Now it seemed they were under control again, following orders in an organized manner.

At the top of the tower, the power had shifted and a new heir rose through the ranks.

This room had once belonged to Clu. The "throne room" was closest to describing it. From his chair, he watched the games below from the wall-length window. Two dozen guards were separated in halves, falling together like soldiers on each side of the room, leaving a clear pathway between them.

It was silent until the doors swished open. A figure emerged, sticking out like a sore thumb among the armored clones.

Wisteria was tall and lithe, her suit black and streaked in circuits of yellow. A skirt melted from the leather corset around her torso, sweeping just past her thighs; her knee high boots were decorated in orbs of glowing yellow and orange. Her blond hair was pulled into a tight bun, loose hair feathered beneath the knot. Only half of Wisteria's face was exposed; her blue, smoky eyes and knitted brows. The mask wrapped around her neck, up around her mouth and nose, tight against the skin, tapering off to a sharp point along the ridge of her nose up between her eyes.

"The first wave has begun," she said, voice cold and mechanical. Wisteria moved gracefully down the pathway, thick heels clak-claking on the floor. The guards kept their heads and concealed eyes forward.

Wisteria moved around the throne, stopped before the window. "I should have stepped up sooner," she said. Her gloved hands crossed behind her back. "We might have had things under control cycles ago." Wisteria narrowed her eyes at the empty arena, the lights having long since died. There was a time, after the Creator abandoned them, that alongside Clu, she had helped to engineer and build the arena and battlefields to what they were before the madness of the here and now.

She turned her head. "Report."

A guard stepped forward, holding a datapad. "Sectors 1 through 4 have been swept," he explained, voice void of emotion. "We have eliminated or retained any rebel forces. Derezzed causalities are currently at twenty-five. Those captured are within the high forties, and are currently being transported to Storage and Processing." He lowered the 'pad. "Among the causalities were four Rebels."

"The unknown fluctuations," Wisteria said, "have they continued?"

"We are still researching the cause of the fluctuations," the guard answered. "As of now, they continue to remain unknown, from a source unidentified."

Wisteria nodded, looked back to the window. "Once we have taken out the garbage," she hummed, "we can return the Grid back to her former glory." Her smile was wicked underneath the mask. "Just as Clu would want."

* * *

III

* * *

Above, rain clouds were knitting a gray quilt over the city. Winds had picked up, reported to increase velocity as day turned to night. Rain was in the high eighties, and just as Sam parked his bike, he wished he brought an umbrella.

Actually, if anything, he wished he was still at home. Getting the rest he lost that night. Sam usually returned to sleep shortly after the nightmares, but this one was too potent... He tossed and turned fitfully, but the grotesque image of himself laughing and enjoying his father's death hung above him like the looming storm.

Sam felt a headache coming on. No, he had work. He wasn't going to let some stupid nightmare keep him from living. But when he remembered Quorra's words as she held out his father's memory stick, about finding closure...

_"We have to return," the ISO whispered. She clasped his hand with the memory stick. Quorra met his eyes. "We have to go back to the Grid._

_Sam frowned. "Do you think that will stop the nightmares?"_

_"I do not know. I still don't know how dreams and nightmares work," Quorra replied. Her gaze did not leave his. "But if we try, perhaps... Perhaps you will find what you need to rest peacefully."_

_"I don't want to imagine what it's like there now. With Clu derezzed and all."_

_Quorra's eyes darkened. "Which is also why we must return."_

_There was no arguing with that. Sam took both her hands, squeezed. "I think," he chuckled lightly, looking so damn tired, "you may be right."_

_Hold on. Just hold on. At least for tonight_, Sam thought. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath. _It can end tonight. You have to make it stop. This isn't healthy._

The nightmares needed to end, and the only cure laid in the world beyond.

"You're lookin' a little glum there, buddy."

Sam's eyes snapped open with shock. He whirled around, almost gaping. Behind him stood a slightly taller man around his age, dressed in simple jeans and a sleeved shirt. His hair was short, spiked brown, glasses over friendly eyes, a slight goatee along his chin. If one looked closely, for just one minute at his face, they would immediately think of Alan Bradley.

"Jet!" Sam laughed. "Hell, when did you get here?"

Jethro Bradley smirked. "I just flew in," he said, swinging to give his childhood friend a handshake. Instead, they hugged, slamming pats to their backs. "It's been, Christ, a long time, man." He stepped back, hands on his hips. "You're still a bit too twiggy."

Sam chuckled. "Yeah, well, you look like you packed on some pounds."

"All muscle, my friend!"

"What are you doing here, huh?" Sam asked, smiling widely.

"Mom and I are in town visiting," Jet answered. "We'll be staying for about a week. Surprised dad didn't tell you."

"Eh, we've been busy."

Jethro nodded, understanding. "Seems I'm not as dumb as you told me I was," he chortled. "I'm helping mom on this new program. Math Assistant One Audio or Ma1a. We're hoping to get some input from dad before maybe proposing it to ENCOM."

Sam sneered. "Oh, so you're basically just trying to kiss up to me."

Jet laughed, slapped him on the shoulder. "I'm stopping by to visit the old man," he noted, jerking a thumb at the giant ENCOM building behind him. "Surprised you got the company. I never thought you'd be more than a burger flipper at McDonald's."

The younger boy snorted. "You're the one had to cheat off my homework to get through sixth grade," he taunted, walking past his old friend.

Jethro followed. "Heh, well, my brain caught up with my good looks soon enough," he said. "Now I'm a college graduate of LA Institute of Technology and Engineering. Valedictorian, remember? I think that was the last time I saw you, at my graduation party."

"Kegger."

Jethro snorted. The two stepped inside, flashing a few smiles and greetings. "So what are you doing tonight?" he asked. He nudged Sam in the arm. "Alan told me about your new girlfriend. Quorra - sounds exotic. You should introduce us."

"You still a bachelor?" Sam chuckled.

Jet shrugged. "Haven't found The One yet, you know?"

Sam wrinkled his nose, amused. "You still hooked up on that? The One Perfect Girl Forever?" He joined his friend in the elevator, punching button for the top floor. "You know, if you don't fool around a little, you won't know which girl is The One."

Jethro smiled confidently. "Oh, I'll know." He winked. The two stood there in silence for a minute, listening to the soft jazz music. Finally, Jet turned and asked, "So, how about it then? Do you have time to hang out tonight? Maybe go get a beer or dinner? Quorra should definitely come. We haven't talked in forever," he laughed, "I'd like to hear this so-called TRON sequel you have in the works." He snorted, rocking back on his heels. "A TRON sequel, really? You don't always strike gold twice, y'know."

"Your support has always been overwhelmingly helpful, Jet," Sam replied, but was hardly offended. Another minute in the elevator and the two arrived on the top floor, heading to Sam's office. He stopped and tossed his secretary his bike helmet, giving her a warm smile. "But I'm afraid tonight's a no go," he told Jet.

Jet blinked, surprised. "Why not?" he inquired, slipping into the office. He whistled, eying the walls. "Nice. Been forever since I saw this place. Still a bit bland, though."

"It's going through renovations," Sam said, pointing to a half unrolled poster of Queen on the small sofa. "I've got prior engagements tonight."

"Prior engagements? Boy, you really are a CEO," Jethro smirked. He took a seat in one of the spare chairs, lounging back. "Is it work related? So important you'd skip a beer with your old best buddy?"

Sam sorted through the documents left on his desk. Jesus, they piled up fast. "I've got a meeting with a couple guys about an outside project," he answered, debating shredding the papers instead of reading them. "Plus, Quorra and I are doing something afterward."

"A date?"

Sam smiled weakly. "Hardly." He finally shoved the papers aside, rebooting his computer instead. "You'll be here for a week, right? We can do something tomorrow."

Jet frowned. "Dunno if I can make tomorrow," he mumbled, "promised the old man I'd spend some quality time with him. He wants to go fishing." His eyebrows climbed. "Fishing."

Sam's rose as well. "Fishing."

"_Fishing_." Jethro sat forward, eyes squinted. "Hey, so, you said side project - what's that? Something ENCOM would not approve of?" His smile turned mischievous.

"It has nothing to do with ENCOM, not entirely," Sam retorted. He was immediately flooded with more paperwork, digital this time.

"I take it you're not going to tell me?"

"It'd bore you to tears," Sam replied. He pinched the bridge of his nose, sighed. "What about Sunday? You want to try something Sunday?"

Jet shrugged. "Sure, we could try that." He stood, slapping hands to his sides. "I'll leave you to your paperwork." His friend groaned. "I'm gonna go surprise the shit out of dad." He headed for the door, stopped and turned. As he opened his mouth -

"One floor down," Sam answered. "204."

Jet smiled and nodded before leaving.

Sam took a deep breath. Well, that certainly was a surprise. When he looked down, he saw himself staring at a few sketches left from the designers. New weapons for the game; prankster bit, mesh primitive, virus balls. He picked them up, studied the doodles. All he could think of was the battle in the arena back on the Grid, how tools much like these had been real. And had nearly cost him his life.

_This time it'll be different. No fighting, no defying death, no..._ Hopes to give up? He wished he could believe that. But there was hope; hope of recovery, hope with moving on. Hope that he could enter that world again and feel more than sorrow and rage.

Kevin spent almost an eternity in cyberspace, lost himself and died there. But Sam knew his father would not want him to turn his back on this world. Life was cruel, even if it was from another world and another time. There was no use hating what you could not control; you might as well love the beauty for what it was.

It would be different this time. Sam was going to find closure and forgive the world that took so much from him. Then he hoped he would never have any reason to return again.

* * *

III

* * *

The night had been long, and not only for Sam Flynn.

Edward's mind had been knotting itself, keeping him from sleeping. He spent hours lying in bed in the dead of night, staring at the ceiling. His mind raced with ideas, weighing pros and cons, examining every angle from the futures he could make. One such future involved rising as fCon's CEO and taking power.

There were many advantages to being a CEO, of course. Edward had always hoped to one day run a company of his own. Even if it was someone else's. ENCOM he had come close to, so very close, until Sam waltzed right in and changed his entire fate with a few words. Future Control Industries was shady, and their reputation was not without its flaws and weaknesses. Yet calculating everything together brought Edward no fear. FCon's failures and shadows were not threatening enough for him to turn them down.

At least, they wouldn't be anything he couldn't handle or control.

By 6 AM, Edward had been on his third cup of coffee. He woke at three, sat before the large window in his flat's living room. The city was still alive, even more so at night. He watched the lights flicker and eventually die as dawn peeked over the buildings. His third cup had gone cold, mind burning away as it had been for hours now.

Edward poured the rest of his coffee out, showered, and dressed. A half hour later, he was out the door and on his cell with Eva.

* * *

III

* * *

The hooded rat's name was 001, but everyone on the team addressed her as Top Hat. Beneath her right front leg she sported a peanut sized tumor, making it very hard for her to walk. It had been growing larger within the passing weeks, left unattended.

Today, however, would change that.

Top Hat squeaked as the woman carefully lifted her into gloved hands, removing her from the cage of four other rats. A moment later, she was placed on a small platform. The woman removed a needle, injecting her with anesthesia that sent her fast asleep in seconds flat. As Top Hat slipped into unconsciousness, the last thing she saw was the single, unblinking eye of the machine above.

Michelle stepped back, disposing of the needle. "Hatty's fast asleep," she noted. "Won't feel a thing."

Walter looked up from his keyboard. He was much older now, bound to a wheelchair, but the spirit in his eyes never changed. He turned, facing Sam and Quorra watching curiously from nearby. "Now we administrate the nanites."

A third lab technician, Joel, emerged from the back room. In his hand he held a syringe of silver liquid, just a few droplets full. Quorra instinctively rubbed her arm, picking at the bandaide left behind. She still felt queasy, watching them melt down her own DNA after it was scraped from the epidermis. The cut was superficial enough that her body could auto-correct the damage without divulging into her system via disc.

Sam had told her they were trustworthy. Walter especially. The man had been the creator of ENCOM, worked there nearly his whole life until retirement. Not to mention, he was the other half to Lora's team that created the digitizer. There was no need to fear him. When Walter took some of her crystal-esque flesh, he did not seem surprised; Sam had found out soon after returning from cyberspace Walter had known all along about Kevin's escapades inside the Grid.

Still, he was highly impressed.

"You know," Sam conversed. Joel handed Walter the needle, the old man easily pushing his way to the rat now strapped to the table. "I thought only one of these were in existence." He nodded to the digitizer pointed at the rat.

"Meanwhile, the rest of humanity doesn't even know one exists at all," Walter smirked. He flicked the needle, made sure the oxygen was out. "Kevin received the prototype. A second, the one you see here, was made after he became CEO. There was a third in the works, under the supervision of myself, Mrs. Laney here and an ex-employee, J. D. Thorne, but once your father... departed," he paused, "money was all the company wanted. The expansion of science and the future meant nothing." He scowled, carefully pricking the rat's tumor with the needle and injecting the silver liquid.

Sam nodded. "Whatever happened to Thorne?"

"He left ENCOM some months after Kevin took the reigns," Walter said, wheeling back. "He didn't like your father. He was a greedy punk bastard, Thorne was." He smiled at Quorra. "Pardon my Français."

The two took the ISO's side at the computer, Michelle and Joel quick to join them. "We did a few test runs earlier, to make sure Nephthys was still in working order. Sound as a pound," Walter added.

Sam cocked a brow. "Nephthys?" he chuckled. "You named it?"

"As I've told people countless times before," Walter snapped, "your creations, be them works of art or digital teleportation and matter transfer devices, are still your creations." He wrinkled his nose. "Besides, I've no kids or grandkids. Not that I'm complaining. These machines of mine might as well be the closest things I get to 'em." He gave his giant monitor a pat; there was no disappointment in his tone.

Joel smiled. "Sometimes he calls her Nephy when she does successful runs."

Walter swatted at him as the others laughed. "Let us begin digitization," he ordered. Sam and Quorra were offered goggles, quickly slipping them on. Walter's fingers flew across the keyboard, windows popping open, and disappearing. Finally, he took a deep breath and said, "Cross your fingers."

With one final key stroke, the digitizer winked, flashed light over the sleeping rat. Her body seemed to break into a thousand little pieces, but only for a split second, before she completely disappeared.

"She would be digitizing into the system now," Walter mumbled, removing his goggles.

A couple more key strokes, and a graph appeared. Before their very eyes, the rat was reconfigured like data coming together on the screen. In a minute, her entire form was back to new, stuck in suspended animation in cyberspace. There were red streaks just beneath her arm and around the tumor.

"The nanites," Quorra whispered.

"We can manipulate her atoms and matter within the system," Walter stated, hitting more keys. He expanded a window over the tumor, increasing the size by zooming in. It was almost like watching creatures beneath a microscope, except data, pure data hustling and bustling. "This green area," the old man said, zooming in on the green figures. Seconds later, they were facing three-dimensional DNA strands painted in chartreuse. "This is the infection. We've determined it was malignant before we started the experiment. The system is recognizing the imperfections from the data we input; like a bug or virus."

Sam looked between him and the screen. "And the nanites," he mumbled, "you hope they repair the damage? Like white blood cells, or an antivirus program."

Walter beamed. "That's exactly it," he chuckled. "The trick is..." He closed the windows, once more greeted with the form in its whole. The keyboard slammed beneath his fingers as he ordered the nanites along. "... Getting them to recognize the damage. The ISO nanites are independent strands; since they self-produce, they are not programmed to follow instructions and mostly function on basic instincts. They are foreign to 001's system and may take it as a threat."

It was as he said. No matter how much Walter attempted to manipulate the ISO data, it would not budge or accept commands. Quorra bit her lip. "Perhaps," she breathed, looking over the group, "perhaps I might be able to help..."

Walter blinked, adjusting his glasses. "Well..." he murmured. Michelle and Joel didn't seem opposed. "You may have better chances communicating with the codes." He wheeled himself back, Joel quickly fetching Quorra a chair. Sam leaned over her, watching closely.

It didn't take long for Quorra to master the system. Soon, she was accessing the ISO data again, punching in commands. It took only one try before they translated and accepted her orders, quickly working on the infected strands.

Sam beamed and clapped her on the shoulder. "Well done."

"That was fast!" Michelle reveled. "What'd you do?"

Quorra smiled sheepishly. "Well," she tittered, shrugged, "I asked politely."

Walter burst into laughter, surprising the group. Soon, everyone was chuckling. "My dear," he breathed, taking her by the hand, "you are not only a miracle worker, but a delight to have around."

The ISO bowed her head, embarrassed but smiling. She stood and pulled the chair away, letting Walter return to his place. "It seems the girls are all ready hard at work," he noted, panning in on the green cells.

"You call everything female?"

Walter snorted. "Well, they belonged to Quorra! Isn't it obvious they're ladies?"

"This is true," Sam chuckled.

There was a good ten minutes of mostly silence as Walter worked away, keeping updates on the nanites and making sure they continued following orders. Once the last infected databyte was eliminated, Walter waved back at his assistants. "Goggles," he ordered, pulling on his.

Accessing the digitizer, Michelle cautiously stepped toward the table. She waited until the light cleared and in a flash of blue and white, Top Hat returned. She was in the same position as before her trip, still sound asleep. Nothing appeared out of normal. Michelle picked her up, turned her around to assess for damage. The tumor remained, still the same size. "Vital signs are stable," she informed, "no apparent injury or detection of radiation."

Walter pushed forward with the others. "It may take time before we start to see any improvements," he said, touching the rat's tumor. He decided not to mention 'deteriorations'. Quorra had been nervous before; he did not want to make her even more so now. Michelle nodded and placed Top Hat in her own cage, settling her in a pile of recycled paper to sleep the rest of the anesthesia off.

"Do you have an estimation of time before we may see changes?" Sam asked.

Walter turned to him. "I really can't say, unfortunately," he answered, "but I will contact you immediately at any sign of transformation." He smiled at the ISO. "You as well."

"I hope Hatty recovers," Quorra mumbled. "Sam told me about these 'tumors' and 'cancer' on our ride here." She flinched. "In my world, we have no such thing. At least, not entirely the same. It is truly a tragedy."

"And, my dear," Walter said seriously, though he was still smiling. "You may be the one who ends such tragedies and many, many more like it."

* * *

III

* * *

"It is truly an honor to have you back."

Eva met Edward at the front door, shaking his hand. Her eyes and smile were full of hope and enthusiasm. "We have prepared the tour just as you requested," she said, gesturing away.

"I'd like to skip the pleasantries, if you don't mind," Edward replied, "and go straight to business."

Eva grinned. "FCon is all about business, Mister Dillinger, as you're about to find out."

* * *

Eva had taken Edward through Future Control Industries, introducing him to many of the projects and designers. Unlike ENCOM, they focused on digital science and evolution more over games and technological improvements. The staff was many, most quiet, stone faced, and those who did speak did so professionally and without emotion. Edward looked upon the staff, the engineers, designers, and employees like robots. It might have been a turn off to anyone else, but they got the work done; they were kept from being distracted by usual office nonsense and gossip.

Good. He liked that.

There were some rather interesting designs and experiments underway. The tour had shown him many of fCon's hopes and dreams, future goals and products. It took nearly the entire afternoon and Eva felt no need to keep anything secret. She knew Edward liked what he saw, though his face remained still and expressionless.

One rather interesting experiment caught Edward toward the very end of the tour. They had arrived to one of the higher floors, where security was even tighter. A one-way mirror covered half of a wall, Edward looking inside. There were two rows of beds, six on each side and twelve all together, facing one another. A little under half of them were filled with sleeping men and women in hospital garbs. IVs were hooked in their arms; on top of their heads, however, were nets. Multi-colored wires connected to the nets and what appeared to be a series of individual computers.

"And what did you say this was for?" Edward asked.

Eva chuckled. "We are currently working on matter transfer," she explained. "We are hoping to translate the basic personality components and memory of an individual into, well." She sneered. "Cyberspace."

Edward cocked a brow. "You're making back-ups of their personalities, then?"

"Not entirely," she said. "We're creating digital avatars." Eva nodded at the machines. "We move information from one body into another. In this case, into fCon's mainframe system."

It sounded interesting, though a bit farfetched. Kevin had mentioned something like this in his novel. Edward had believed the possibility of humans mastering the digital world, but to skip to and from them like separate dimensions... He knitted his brows as he studied one redheaded girl nearby the window. "They all appear to be in their early or mid twenties or forties."

"Age has no factor," Eva said, "just skill."

"Skill?"

"They're professional hackers," she said, smirked, "well, seven of them are. Previously worked for the government, some CIA, some FBI, one from the BSI." Eva pointed to the overweight man in the far back. "That is DW04. Before he was signed onto the experiment, he worked at a diner as a host. We discovered his skills quite by accident when he decided to try and hack into one of our sister company's fundings. We came to an accord: either he work for us, or we send him to jail for the remaining duration of his life."

Edward nodded. "Very interesting. Many of your ideas are, actually," he said. Indeed, the were. He looked to Eva. "I believe by the end of our tour, you will have my answer."

Eva's smile turned smooth. "I can all ready venture a guess as to what you'll say."

* * *

III

* * *

Rain had fallen shortly after noon, only to let up around late that evening. Traffic had been Hell and some streets were flooded. It took Sam an hour longer to return home.

"Let's wait 'til the rain clears up, at least a little," Sam explained, shaking off his leather jacket. Quorra was perched by the window, watching the storm with utter fascination. "I don't want to drive in this weather, especially at night." He scowled. "I'm really getting old."

"Many people say the rain is depressing," Quorra mumbled. She traced the trail of a raindrop on the other side. "But it is really beautiful. It has a strange smell." She smiled back at him. "I like it. Your weather is very different. It never stays the same, not for too long."

"Well, wait 'til summer rolls around," Sam smirked. He quickly changed out of his wet clothes, returning to the living room. Quorra was drawing smiley faces on a steam patch. She was still so new to this world, and her innocence never ceased to endear him.

Quorra turned in her seat. "You mentioned your friend Jethro at the laboratory," she said. "Tell me about him."

"He's a pretty fun guy," he replied, sitting beside her. "We grew up together, sort of. Lora had him a few months before me, right after she moved away. But every other weekend or vacation break, they came down to visit and we'd hang out. He was my best friend - guess you could say he still is."

"He sounds like a good man, then."

"He is," Sam chuckled. "He'd bully me a little, but he never meant any harm. Sort of like a big brother. He used to always need my help for homework, but now the guy's as smart as his parents." He shrugged. "I guess some people's brains take longer to develop. Though he was such a reckless moron - and when _I_ say reckless, then you _know_ it's bad - that I'm surprised he made it past 20."

Quorra giggled before quickly frowning. "Oh, that's not funny, is it?"

"No," Sam said, paused, "it's hilarious." They laughed together, the ISO relaxing again. "I think you'd like him. He's more into the entire scientific field than I. Became a nerd, though don't tell him I told you that."

Quorra nodded. "I can't wait to meet him," she said. Her hand moved to take his. "I will meet him. We will have fun. Do a... luncheon?"

Sam knew what she was doing.

_It will be hard, but things will get better, especially after tonight._

He smiled lightly. "Yeah," he agreed, "yeah, we will."

* * *

III

* * *

A time long ago, going farther back before Sam was even born, the intersection had been a sight to see at night. FLYNN'S ARCADE faced the center of the crossroads, and years ago, every night, the sign would light up, music would blast from within, and crowds would be packing inside the arcade. It was always busy, always lively. But after Kevin's disappearance, FLYNN'S doors closed and soon, it became nothing but a memory.

This part of town was old. The buildings were emptied, businesses long run out or moved. It was a stretch of ten miles of dead land and urban decay. FLYNN'S was a lifeless ghost of many, left with imprinted memories of a time long ago when this city was alive and thriving. Now hardly a car drove by, and the place felt empty and desolate.

The streets and sidewalks were still slick with rain, and the sun had fallen some hours ago before the motorcycle pulled up into the abandoned parking lot. Sam helped Quorra off the back of his bike, both looking up at the dark FLYNN'S ARCADE sign.

"Welp," Sam took a deep breath, exhaling a cloud, "here we are."

"It feels like forever since we were last here," Quorra murmured.

Sam nodded. "Didn't think I'd come back..." he whispered. It suddenly felt as if his heart had dropped into his stomach. "... Had no reason to, I guess."

Quorra touched the memory stick around his neck. "You do."

She was right. Sam nodded once, fished in his back pocket. He tossed the arcade keys in the air, caught them then headed to the locked doors.

Just as they stepped inside, quietly shutting the doors behind them, the headlights of a car hidden down the street switched off.

* * *

III

* * *

The descent down the stairs felt like walking into oblivion. Possibly the afterlife itself. Sam was immediately reminded of the last time he walked these stairs. Down out of curiosity, coming here with some foolish hope that he'd find his father. And then he left what felt like days later, never wanting to turn back, never saying goodbye.

When they reached the basement, everything was quiet. The giant computer sleeping, the digitizer's black eye staring at them. With shaky fingers, Sam rebooted the computer. Nostalgia twisted his gut, forming a lump in his throat. Just like before, the memories of the last time were rushing back. This time it was intentional, this time he knew the danger, and the words felt like warnings now.

"Hey."

Sam nearly choked on a gasp when Quorra patted his shoulder. He looked back at her. "What?" he whispered. He had no idea why, but it felt appropriate for the situation.

The ISO was squinting at the staircase. She didn't speak, not for a few seconds. "Mm, nothing," she murmured, "I thought I heard something."

Sam tittered. "Don't say that." He punched in another command. "It all ready feels creepy enough as is." Another command, and then...

The question popped open, blinking, taunting. _You can still turn back, you know_, it said.

Sam swallowed the lump, hands floating above the touch screen. Quorra shifted closer and he squeezed his eyes shut. He was going to do this, he was going to do this...

After entering the password, Sam turned to Quorra. "Thirty seconds," he breathed. She nodded and they moved to stand beneath the digitizer's line of vision. Side by side, holding their breaths, muscles tense.

The countdown fell to twenty seconds. Quorra looked at Sam; sweat was beading at his forehead. Fifteen seconds. She bit her bottom lip, looked away. Ten seconds. Nervous fingers reached out, touched his. Eight seconds. Sam blinked, gazed at her then the digits caressing his. Five seconds. Shaky fingers reached back, and their hands squeezed together.

Four, three, two -

"Look out!"

Quorra screamed when weight was thrown into her side, nearly knocking them over. However, the beam struck, quickly engulfing them in light. They felt their bodies sucked into the system like a powerful tornado, pulling every bit of them inside. It was darkness, then an explosion of light. They jerked forward, flying as every sinew of their body morphed and transformed.

The light at the end of the tunnel blinded them and when they next opened their eyes, they were flung onto the cold basement floor.

They laid there for a minute, groaning as their senses returned to them. Quorra recovered first, immediately recognizing the atmosphere, the very air of the place. They were inside FLYNN'S, but it was not the FLYNN'S in the real world. She sat up, twitched and reached back. No disc, no plug, and she remembered how Kevin had been the last to have it.

Quorra stood and ran to the single window, peering outside. She only saw a small strip of sky; dark, starless, familiar. "We made it," she whispered, almost breathless. It was Sam's grunt that brought her back, quickly rushing to his side. "We're here, we're in the Grid," she said hurriedly, helping him to a sit.

Sam cursed something, rubbing his forehead. "I don't remember feeling this sick the last time I was thrown into another dimension," he grumbled. The hands on his arm disappeared. He didn't register it, simply swayed to his feet to rest against the computer. Something poked his back and as Sam reached to swat it away, he found his hand run over a disc.

Wide eyed, Sam removed the disc. It was his, the one he thought he left behind. But his father's memory stick remained in its current form. "Huh," Sam smirked, the circuits around the disc lighting to blue upon his touch. "Thought I'd never have to deal with these again."

"Um... Sam."

Quorra sounded uneasy. And that was definitely not a good thing. "What is it?" Sam asked, placing his disc back in its plug.

"We may have a little problem," Quorra said when he turned to look at her. With teeth grit, she pointed to the floor.

Where Jethro laid groaning and shaking his head.

Sam felt like he'd been smacked across the face.

"Shit."

* * *

III

* * *

"Yes."

Eva and Edward looked at one another, standing in the middle of the empty hall.

Eva smiled. "Your final answer then?"

"Some improvements are definitely needed, as well as errors to be repaired," Edward answered. He smirked. "And I think I'm the most qualified to make them."

Eva inhaled. "Welcome aboard, Edward Dillinger, Jr," she said and firmly shook his hand. "As CEO, you are now entitled access to all our projects."

Edward chortled. "Can't wait."

There was paperwork to go through, but not much. Everything had been what Edward expected. He searched for every possible loophole; the ones he found could very easily be avoided or manipulated. FCon wanted a leader, needed a leader, and they were not about to hide it. Yet it was clear they wanted loyalty, a firm binding. It was too bad that Edward had enough power and wit to turn away whenever he wanted.

Eva filed away the papers and stood alongside him. "Now," she said, "for what you've come here for."

* * *

They had taken an elevator ride to the bottom floor. However, before they could open the doors to the lobby, Eva unlocked a small panel beneath the row of buttons. There were two hidden buttons there. An arrow pointing up, and an arrow pointing down. She hit the latter and locked the panel, smiling at Edward as the doors closed and they headed to what appeared to be a secret underground floor.

When the doors parted, Edward found himself staring down a long corridor. It was cold, empty, and walking down it felt like walking down death row. Eva went ahead until they arrived at the door at the very end. It blended well with the gray, steel walls, only visible by a tiny black box. She pressed her thumb over the box, a light scanning her fingerprint before another panel door above popped open.

Eva's fingers were fast as she dialed in the password. Edward, however, easily memorized the long code. The door hissed open, sinking back a foot before sliding to the side. It was a rather thick door, reminding Edward of ENCOM's own private back door. Eva gestured him forward, the two walking into the large room.

It was lit up bright, and solely by dozens of computers. Monitors from hand held to giant screens, systems that looked beyond imagination and those of the 1980's. Wires and cords strung along the walls and ceiling like streamers, their footfalls loud on the cement floor. Edward was led into the middle of the room, where a series of chairs had been placed before the largest screen yet.

Three men hunched over the many keyboards quickly stood and faced their guests. An African American in slacks, gray coat over brown turtleneck shirt, eyes cruel and dark. Beside him, a grinning Indian man in a brown business suit, appearing friendly and aloof. Going by the photos Eva showed him, they were Seth Crown and Esmond Baza, respectfully, two of the leading scientists and engineers at fCon alongside Eva.

The third, however, was from the room of hackers hooked up to the machines. A tall, skinny man, about twenty-six years old, with beady eyes and a large nose. There was a name tag on his gown: RODRIGUEZ, MIKE DW09.

"I've already told your new friends here about you," Eva chuckled. She gestured between them. "Seth, Esmond - this is Edward Dillinger, Jr. He will be working alongside us as fCon CEO and supervisor."

Seth's hand was cold, giving Edward a hard handshake. He said nothing and then Esmond was enthusiastically shaking his hand. "We've heard lots about you," the man said, "your father, too. Good man, good man."

Eva walked over to Mike. "Rodriguez here is also part of our team, but with a very different task," she purred, squeezing the younger man's shoulder. Mike visibly blushed. "We asked him to come down specifically to show you our greatest achievement yet."

"I'm on the edge of my seat," Edward smirked. Seth didn't seem to appreciate his sarcasm, glaring outright. Edward only met it back with a smile until he turned his eyes away.

"Have a seat, Mike," Eva ordered. The man nodded and sat in the middle chair in the row. Esmond and Seth returned to their keyboards, while Eva plucked a pair of goggles from a nearby table. "Not necessary, but safety first, they say."

Edward took them, followed her away. She stopped and placed her hand on a pole. He looked up, surprised to find a machine pointing down at the platform of chairs. If he didn't know any better, it looked a bit like a gun. "I present to you the key to the future," she hummed.

Esmond gave a thumb's up. "Digitizer's activated." He stepped back, grabbing goggles.

"Thirty seconds," Seth added before disappearing.

Edward suddenly felt anxious. By twenty seconds, the machine above him suddenly whirred with life, its barrel turning a bright blue. Mike sat still, back to the machine, drumming fingers on his knees. "Ten seconds," Seth said from somewhere in the darkness.

Eva placed a hand on Edward's arm. "Watch closely," she whispered.

"Five."

"Three."

Eva grinned. "One."

Edward nearly fell on his ass when light blinked from the machine. One minute Mike was sitting in his chair, the next he burst into light and disappeared. It happened all in a wink, and soon the digitizer was cooling down. Edward gaped, yanking the goggles from his face. He debated checking out the chair, stopped, stared wide eyed at the machine.

"What - Where did he go?"

Esmond jerked a thumb at the flashing screen. "In there."

A moment later, an image of Mike appeared on the screen. Except his form was different - he was covered in circuits, almost ghoulish in design. Edward's jaw dropped farther, glasses tilting on his nose. "You..." he gulped. "... You transported him into cyberspace?"

Eva walked to his side. "We digitized him, Edward," she said proudly, "we successfully moved man from one dimension into another. What you see there is Mike, now one with the digital realm. Within this world lies great power people thought they could only dream of. To think, we are nowhere near as advanced as we thought we were. Just monkeys with cellphones and laptops, really."

"Kevin Flynn's book wasn't all idealistic nonsense," Esmond snickered. "It's real. It's all real."

"And we need your help to bring this power to reality, where Flynn and ENCOM failed," Eva stated. She gestured to the screen with wide open arms. "So we welcome you, Edward Dillinger, Jr, to Project: REVOLUTION."

Edward felt like his entire being had been shattered, everything he knew and believed thrown upside down. His father had mentioned something about cyberspace being a world of its own, how it held a type of sentience and powers humanity would kill for. He had taken them as ramblings of a bitter man who failed where his son would succeed. Now all of his father's silly fantasies were a reality.

And once in what felt like years, Edward was truly excited.

* * *

**A/N**:

Jethro Bradley is from Tron 2.0, the son of Alan and Lora. Ma1a is also a program from the game, as well as some of the weapons mentioned. Seth and Esmond also hail from Tron 2.0.

The name Nephthys is based on the Egyptian goddess of the same name. According to research, she symbolizes such things as "moon and night" and "the underworld", which I thought was nicely fitting.

Oh, my, I am terrible at science, so just remember this is all science _fiction_.


	3. Chapter 2

Once more, a thank you to everyone who has added or reviewed this story. Here is chapter two. I hope you like!

* * *

**CHAPTER 2  
**

* * *

Time had lost meaning to him. It could have been minutes, hours or days, for all he knew. His system had shut down as soon as he sunk deeper into the black sea. In a way, perhaps it was to preserve his life. The last thing he remembered was looking up from behind the safety of his helmet. The surface of the water reflected explosions of light from the world above. There was one brilliant, near blinding surge of power that rocked the water, sending violent tremors into its depths. One of these waves had struck him, and then nothing more.

Whether the water had been attempting to nurse him back to health, or he simply sunk to its bottom to lay untouched, it no longer mattered. He became aware of how light his body was, floating endlessly to the far reaches of the sea, perhaps far away from TRON City. But then like a switch being flipped on, his eyes snapped open, and every circuit and inch of his body lit up with furious warmth.

Without thinking, he flipped forward, bubbles following the flail of limbs and effortless twist upward. He swam, cutting through the water, swam even though his still weak body ached. The lights above grew closer, clearer, until with a snarl, he broke the surface. He let his body rest a moment, bob and float before he continued his swim, gliding with agile grace along the water splitting around him.

Time had lost meaning to him. Right now it did not matter. As long as he reached shore, he would swim nonstop for days. It almost felt like it, in fact, and his arms and legs began to throb as he continued pushing himself through the murky waters. Above the clouded sky was rumbling, preparing itself for another electric storm. The Sea of Simulation reacted, the increase in its once gentle rocks now presenting an obstacle.

Still, he did not give up. As the water threatened to push him back, he fought through with every tooth and nail. After what felt like an eternity, his feet kicked against earth and he used it to sprint forward into the shallow waters. No longer needing to swim, he dragged himself onto shore, water pouring off of him in thick rivets and streams. Once ankle deep, exhaustion prompted him to collapse, laying careless as soft waves crashed against him.

Time had lost its meaning to him. As he lay there, he simply focused on circulating his remaining energy. He was only half-aware he had fallen into stand-by mode, auto-pilot shutting him down for the sake of survival. He slept, rested, and the waters soothed him with lullabies. This slumber was not as long as the previous, where he had laid comatose for an undetermined amount of time.

Time would regain its meaning soon enough. As soon as he woke, his circuits flushing with life again, he pushed himself to a stand. He still felt fatigued, but it would fade soon. How long and when did not matter.

Only two things did right now.

For one, he was alive.

The Program plucked off the disc firmly attached to the plug on his back. It was glitching, flickering in and out, perhaps as it attempted to correct the damaged coding. He stretched out an arm, turned it left and right, staring at one long cephalic circuit. It, too, was flashing, dancing between an ugly yellow and soft blue.

He was alive, yes. But if it was Rinzler or Tron who survived remained unknown.

* * *

IIII

* * *

"This is..."

Jet shook his head, allowing Quorra and Sam to each take an arm and drag him to the desk. He finally sat back, took a deep breath.

"Before we even begin to wonder just where to start," Sam snapped, "why the Hell are you here?"

"I think he was following us," Quorra suggested.

Jethro cracked a weak grin. "I couldn't help it. Got my dad's curiosity streak," he chuckled. "I was heading over to drop something off when I saw you two. I wasn't going to follow, really, but when I noticed you were going in the direction of your dad's old arcade..." He shrugged. "Again, stubborn curiosity."

"There's an age old phrase, you know," Sam scowled, "about curiosity killing a cat. You know about that right?"

Quorra blinked. "But he's not a cat."

Jethro laughed. "I like you, Quorra," he said, then held out his hand. "I'm Jethro, by the way. Call me Jet. Pretty sure Sam's told you about me. Mind you, it's mostly slander."

Quorra politely took his hand and shook it. "I did not think to meet you under such... circumstances."

"You know, right now let's not worry about the introductions and pleasantries," Sam growled. He paced the basement a moment, stopped. "Do you have any idea where you are right now?"

Jet rubbed the back of his neck. "Um, the Grid?" he mumbled. The ISO widened her eyes with surprise. He cracked another smile. "When we were kids, Sam told me about the Grid all the time. Said Kevin would take him there one day, and maybe if I got him Masterpiece Voltron for his birthday, I could come t-"

"You never said you believed any of my 'garbage'," Sam interjected.

"I didn't," the older boy replied. He shrugged. "But after I just got sucked into another universe, it's hard to deny it now."

Sam sighed. "In any case, we need to get you back."

Jet's attention, however, was on the disc in his friend's hand. A look of awe washed over his face. "Sam," he mumbled, "tell me that's the real thing, and not just one of your toys."

Sam blinked, then looked at the disc. "Isn't the answer obvious?"

"Can I touch it?" Jet shyly held out a hand.

Sam rolled his eyes. "No, I need it right now to get you back to the real world," he refused.

Jethro groaned, pushing himself to a stand. The ISO quickly helped him with balance, the two smiling at one another. Sam frowned, feeling strangely more annoyed.

"Why go back now? I just got here!"

"It's too dangerous here."

"Dangerous?" Jet snorted. "You told me the Grid was like utopia. You could spend all day playing games here." He cocked a brow. "And you say it's _dangerous_?"

Quorra frowned. "Times have changed," she murmured, "and Sam's right." She looked out the dusty basement window. "Clu may be gone, but there's no telling the current state of the Grid."

"Clu?" Jet echoed. "Codified Likeness Utility? That Clu?"

"That Cl - Wait, you remember what the initials stand for?"

Jet shrugged. "But, wait, he was real?"

Sam carefully walked up to his old friend, stared him right in the eyes. "Everything," he said, firmly, "was real. Except now the game's changed. The Grid's no longer safe."

"Then why are we here?" Jethro looked between the two. "If it's so dangerous."

The ISO stepped forward. "Closure," she replied, and said nothing more.

Jethro wasn't sure what she meant, but he had a hunch. Kevin, it was only natural. He bowed his head, feeling slightly ashamed. "Look," he murmured, "if it's all right with you, I'd like to stay." Sam opened his mouth to protest - "Kevin," Jet continued, silencing him. He met his friend's gaze again, empathetic. "Kevin was important to me, too."

Sam studied his friend's sincere expression before sighing. "You should go back," he grumbled, running a hand through his hair. "I'd be completely irresponsible if I let you stay."

Jet laughed. "Hey, come on," he sneered, "I'm an adult. I take responsibility for myself." He reached over, gently swatted Sam's shoulder. "Besides, I'm older than you, and as such, I should be in charge."

"Only by a few months."

"Still older."

"Age should have no factor in this."

"If we are going by age," Quorra interrupted. She swept forward, grinning. "I am the oldest. Considering a minute in your world is hours in mine."

It only really occurred to Sam then and there that Quorra was probably older than three of his great grandparents combined. That was a little intimidating. "Ah, then, Quorra is pack leader," Jet agreed, "also, she was born and raised here. Perfect leader material."

"This is getting ridiculous," Sam groaned, massaging his temples. He glared between them. "Look, all we're going to do is check the state of the Grid then leave. We're going to _observe_, not interact. I'm really not prepared to thrust myself into another war."

Jet beamed. "Sounds good to me!"

Quorra, on the other hand, wasn't so sure. "If the Grid is in trouble," she said, "then what? Do we simply abandon it?" A flash of disappointment crossed her eyes. "As broken as it is, I can't just turn my back..."

Sam understood, though God he wished he didn't. "If there is trouble," he sighed, "then we'll see. However, top priority right now is just assessment." He reached out, gently brushing fingers to the ISO's hand. "After that, we take it a step at a time."

Jethro snickered. "Well, are we required to all hold hands?" he teased.

"Shut up."

* * *

IIII

* * *

On the way up the stairs to the surface, the trio were surprised to find debris had barricaded the door to the arcade. With a little shove and heave-ho, they broke through, stepping out into the ruins of FLYNN'S ARCADE. "Holy crap," Jethro breathed, studying the broken and scattered arcade games. It was amazing the place was still standing, or what was left of it. "Was the arcade here always like this?"

Sam felt uneasy. "No," he mumbled, eying the gaping holes in the ceiling.

Quorra stepped over a few chunks of debris. "This must have happened after we left," she whispered. Kevin hadn't been kidding - reintegrating with Clu had set off a powerful chain reaction. She jumped through a hole in the wall; for as far as she could see, everything had been leveled, completely destroyed.

Sam and Jethro joined her outside. The sight made Sam sick, almost, knowing what caused all this decay. However, the skies were clear of Recognizers, not a single soul to be seen or heard from. "Place is a graveyard," he said. And it really was. The atmosphere was still polluted with a thin layer of debris like volcanic ash.

Jet kicked up soot. "I can see now what you meant about the place having changed."

Sam hopped up onto what was a propped up wall of FLYNN'S. As he climbed to the steep top, he could see TRON City on the horizon. It was still alive, dazzled with millions of lights. Lightning so Earth-like streaked the skies, but the storm would take a while before reaching the badlands. He was vaguely aware of the ISO presence beside him as he mumbled, "Nothing seems to have changed over there."

Quorra bit her lip. "Kevin once told me 'looks can be deceiv-'" Suddenly, her head bolted upward, eyes wide like an animal sensing danger.

"Quorra?" Sam gently nudged her. "Quorra, you okay?"

The ISO pounced from the wall, darting into the open field of jagged rocks and upturned cement road.

"Quorra!" Sam shouted, quickly sliding down the debris.

Jet rushed to his side. "What's happening?" The two followed the ISO out into the field, where she leaped about in gazelle grace. "What's she doing?"

"No idea."

Finally, Quorra came to a dead halt. She turned on her heel before squatting, hands digging and pushing away mounds of rocks. The two caught up with her a few seconds later.

"Mind filling us in?" Sam heaved.

"Help me dig," was all she said.

Sam looked to Jet; the man shrugged and soon they were squatting beside the ISO, digging as well. A minute later, and Quorra gave an excited squeak that nearly caused Sam to fall back. Brushing away another layer of dirt and grime, she gently sunk her fingers around the dusty sphere. With a small grunt, Quorra pulled out the dirtied identity disc and at her touch, it instantly lit up in only a few flickers.

"Is that..."

"My disc," Quorra whispered, exhilarated. She swept away the dust and ash. "I thought it had been destroyed..."

"Maybe that's why you've managed to stay alive," Sam suggested. "Or something."

Jethro stared at the disc. Quorra sat back, using her sweater to clean it off. "These discs," he hummed, "they're important, right? I don't remember the details. I just know you fought with them."

"Our discs contain our very existence," the ISO answered. "Our memories, our skills, everything we've learned and how we became what we are is recorded and documented on them." She pressed the disc to her heart, never before feeling so relieved.

"In a sense, they're like their souls," Sam offered.

"You have a disc," Jet noted, "does that mean you also have a backup copy of yourself?"

Sam squinted. "I'm not sure." If that were the case, then Kevin's disc, now the memory stick around his neck, contained every bit of information and personality of the original. Sam's heart skipped a beat, but he couldn't decide if it was anxiety or sadness. He stood and brushed hands off on his trousers. "We should get going." He offered his hand to Quorra, who took it and stood. With a smile, she gratefully placed her disc back in its plug on her back.

"So when am I going to get a disc?" Jethro demanded. He tried reaching back, but felt nothing. "I don't have one of those plugs."

"I think you only get them after you've had one installed prior. Since you've never had a disc, then..."

"I had like five discs when I was a kid, remember?"

"Those were toys."

"Still, it doesn't recognize the - ?"

The two men stumbled back at the sudden roar of an alien engine. When they looked up, they saw Quorra seated behind the wheel of the blue and black streaked Light Runner. "Guess what else I got back?" she smirked, grin smug as she revved the engine a second time.

Jethro gaped. "Oh, _wow_!" Sam had to take him by the sleeve, dragging him to the vehicle, he was so frozen in shock. "This is new! What is this! Oh, God, _look at it_!" he reveled.

"It's a Light Runner," Quorra said. She opened the top to the second pod. "Wait until you see how she drives."

However, the awe wore off when Jethro and Sam both noticed there was only one seat. They looked at one another. "Um..." Jet scratched his neck. "Is there perhaps a third seat?"

Quorra's grin was devious. The little wench. "Nope." She reached over and gave the seat a smack. "Climb in." Neither said a word or moved a muscle. "I'll decide then," she said, finger pointed at Jet. "Since you're older and bigger, you get bottom. Sam gets lap."

The boys turned scarlet. "You - "

"We don't have all day, as you would say," Quorra giggled, "a Recognizer or scavengers might be just around the corner."

It was Sam who raised the white flag first. He gestured Jethro forward. "After you, grandpa."

"Oh, shut up," the older man scowled. He reluctantly headed forward, distracted once again by the sleek design of the Light Runner. Hands touching and groping everything, he climbed into the seat, Quorra quickly pointing out the seatbelt. He put it on, laughing at its exact resemblance of a real seat belt.

The admiration melted back into apprehension as Sam ducked into the second pod. "Here goes nothing," he tittered. Jethro's entire body froze up as the younger boy climbed in, carefully taking a seat in his lap. Sam was too scared to move, and so was his old friend. Quorra remained chipper as ever, drawing back the top - it nearly hit Sam's head, forcing him to bend forward.

"Jet," the ISO said, "put your arms around Sam's waist. It's going to get rather bumpy, and I don't want him constantly slamming his head against the roof."

Jet winced.

"Let's not make this anymore awkward than it all ready is," Sam laughed nervously, bracing hands to the glass top.

Quorra smirked and yanked back on the stick shift. "Suit yourself," she said, the Light Runner roaring forward and Sam cursing as his head bounced against the roof.

* * *

IIII

* * *

A cluster of data pushers shrieked, quickly scampering out of the streets as the vehicle shot like a bullet past them. It was unlike any other; a combination of the old and upgraded lightcycles. The design was sleek, black and yellow striped, but it was enclosed like a car, the front of the "bike" spreading into an arrow-tip. It led the way to a squall of Black Guard lightcycles following in a single file line.

The drive was short as the Hybridcycle pulled into the entrance of the giant fortress. Security stepped aside, allowing the vehicle and its followers through without resistance. As soon as they were in, the light ribbon entrance doors flickered to life to seal anyone and everyone inside, as well as keeping anyone from getting out.

The Hybridcycle came to an abrupt stop, data flickering as Wisteria emerged from the light, grasping the baton in her hand. Her soldiers were quick to follow, security officers wordlessly leading her inside. When the doors flew open, she was greeted with walls upon walls of containment seals, some imprisoned Programs operating, some forced into stand-by lockdown.

The prisoners all kept quiet as Wisteria and her men stormed down the aisle. One made the mistake of calling her "traitor", finding his jaw suddenly derezzed by a guard. The officers did not oppose, however, and continued leading her farther into the massive fortress.

Doors of ribbon spread to allow her inside, until she was covered in an overhead red light. Programs of all sizes, shapes, and forms were lined up on each side, most nervous, some anxious or excited. They each bore criss-cross wires wrapped around their torsos, forming a bright yellow 'x', though their own circuits were default white. Wisteria looked up, finding a platform at the far end of the room.

A Program had been sitting there, observing the prisoners. He stood, his suit the typical black with minimal square-esque patterns of yellow circuits on his chest and limbs. A helmet concealed his entire head, each side sporting two orange tildes. The Program silently walked toward the edge of the platform to meet Wisteria, surprisingly relatively short compared to everyone else.

"Malvir," Wisteria hummed, taking his hand. The Program led her onto the stage. "I trust these are your finest inmates?" She looked over the prisoners, counting a total of fifty-three heads.

"Previous Rebels and rogue fighters," Malvir answered, voice almost robotic. "We are also in the process of... training twenty-four others."

Wisteria nodded. "And I see you've done as I've asked."

"Of course."

The female Program crossed her hands behind her back, bodyguards and the prison warden stepping back. "Programs," she bellowed, all eyes immediately on her, "you have been serving time in Program Processing and Storage for charges that currently do not interest me. You, however, are a fortunate collective. Seeing your fate could have gone two other, gruesome ways." Death in battle or reprogramming, and a few gulped. "Whatever the reason you were spared, so to speak, no longer matters."

Wisteria scanned the group. Mostly males, but there were a handful of females. All strong, lean and built for battle. "I am now offering you the chance of freedom," she said, and there was a small tremor over the group. "Your warden, Malvir, has agreed to help aide my army in the battle to return the Grid back to its former glory. As you may not be aware, the Rebels have started flooding out of the woodwork and regrouping. Their cowardice is proof they will only fight when they have higher advantages. And while they have yet to equal us in numbers, their strength is still immense."

A few heads bravely turned away, only to snap back when a nearby guard growled. "You join me, and you are granted freedom. As soon as we have wiped out the remaining Rebels, you will be released to live however you please. You may even be rewarded with more than your lives." Wisteria walked back and forth along the stage. "You were chosen because you are the best at your field. Fighters through and through. There are over one hundred and forty-eight Programs being held in Storage and Processing. And only some will ever see the lights of TRON City again." The grin on her face could not be seen, but damn could they feel it.

"I realize I've made a common error," Wisteria chuckled, "as I'm sure some of you may not know of me." She placed a gloved hand to her chest. "I am Wisteria. I was Clu II's head engineer. When the Creator was destroyed, as we had previously believed, it was I who helped to advance and move the Grid forward. Forgive my lack of modesty, but many of the games you may have seen in the arena were of my doing. And," she waved a hand lightly around her, "so was this facility."

She continued: "Since there is no other worthy to take Clu II's mantle, I've seen it upon myself to do just that. As it's been, no one has challenged me. And though I may seem but a humble servant, I am not without my own history of de-resolutions." Wisteria snickered. "Which is to say, I know many of you want freedom, desire it with every pixel of your body. So you will accept my deal, but I know even more of you will attempt to escape or fight me once you're free."

Wisteria held out her arm, gesturing to the curl of shining metal coiled around her limb like a snake. "You are probably wondering about the harnesses Malvir has you suited with," she said. Her fingers ran over one coil, and the harnesses lit up, surprising a few of the Programs. "These are very special weapons; Malvir designed them himself, with some help from yours truly. You see, what you are wearing can be simply summoned up as time bombs."

The crowd rustled, the guards quick to settle them down. "Attempt at removing them equals instant activation of the bombs," she said, calmly. A finger pressed to the top coil, projecting a holograph of numbers. "You each have a number in my system. If I choose to delete your number," she chuckled, "you'll find yourself scattered in fifteen different directions under two nanoseconds."

Wisteria gestured Malvir forward. "Since I have my own army to command, you will be left under the charge of your old warden," she stated. "You will obey him as you would obey me, and take any order he issues. He will keep me constantly informed of your behavior and activities. And if one of you should act out, even the slightest, deresolution will be your punishment." Her eyebrows perked. "But words are big and they sound threatening. Actions are more persuasive, correct?"

At that, Malvir snapped his fingers. There came a low shriek from the left wing of the stage before two officers dragged out a writhing, snarling Program. The prisoners all watched, wide eyed as he was hauled forcefully to the center of the stage. "Say hello to Subject. His real designation is of no importance." She gestured to his blue circuits. "He was a Rebel who had attempted to take my very life on my way here, actually. How bold but so very foolish of him! And as you can see..."

The spitting and hissing Program was forced around, displaying the tight yellow harness across his chest. "He's been suited up with the very same device you are all wearing right now," Wisteria said. "May I ask, is it comfortable or too tight? I don't want it to restrict my men from fighting."

"Frag you, Wisteria!" Subject snarled. Malvir quickly backhanded him across the face.

The female Program didn't seem to mind, just chuckled. "Oh my, we can't have that sort of insubordination in my army!" she tsked, wagging a finger. Subject cursed as the guards shoved him on his knees, locking his legs on the floor and hands behind his back. Once he was secured, Wisteria and the others moved to the far back of the stage. The tension on the prisoners increased, a small shiver rippling through the group.

"Now watch closely," Wisteria ordered, opening the holograph of numbers. "For this could be you." She tapped into the three-dimensional image, drawing forth the number fifty-four. It took one simple stroke through the digits, shattering the coding.

Subject grunted when the harness's ribbons lit up a flaring orange. They tightened and squeezed, visibly biting and sinking painfully into his body. And then, with a simple beep, the harness activated and Subject exploded into a billion tiny shards of crystal and glass. The prisoners struggled not to scream as the bits and pieces of the Program rained down upon them.

Wisteria stepped through the smoke left behind. She idly picked a shard of Subject's data from her hair bun, flicked it aside. "There should be no questions or objections now," she said, and no one dared defy her.

* * *

IIII

* * *

"Any questions."

Edward stopped drumming his fingers on the table, looked up at Eva sitting on the other side with Seth and Esmond. "Rhetorical," he smirked.

Eva smiled. "Of course."

Edward inhaled, sat forward. "The digitizer. This was an invention of ENCOM back in the early eighties, around the time my father was CEO," he stated. "I remember reading briefly about it in the archives. The project was shut down as soon as Kevin Flynn turned ENCOM into a gaming company."

Eva nodded. "It was a rather foolish move on his part, you would think," she said. "But that is not the case."

"We believe Kevin shut the project down because humanity was 'not ready for it'," Esmond snorted, finger quoting the end of his statement. "Truth is, not only did the project remain open and done so in secret, but _another_ digitizer was built."

"The one you have?"

"No, no," Eva replied, "we are unaware of the second digitizer's location. The first, however, we have been tracking for years."

Seth folded his hands together. "We are still narrowing down the location to this day," he said, voice still gruff. "We believed Kevin had the prototype digitizer in his possession, but we're not sure how that came to be, lest he used his power over the company to take ownership. Its whereabouts alone remained unknown. We were almost successful in tracking it down, but ultimately we remain with the same results."

Edward squinted. "You say 'almost successful'."

"It took a little effort getting the information," Esmond said, smugly, "but with the right connections, you can get anything: I discovered Alan Bradley had received a page from Flynn's supposedly deactivated phone line at the arcade. Of course we had to step up."

"Bradley was his closest confidant," Eva added, "if anyone should know of its location, he would."

"Alan mentioned something of an emergency page some months back," Edward mumbled, "he left work early because of it."

"We had a tail following Alan," Eva continued, "but he only visited Sam Flynn and then went straight home. Sam left some time after his visit, and we searched the house, but found nothing. We attempted to follow the boy to wherever he was going, but lost him." She grumbled. "Either he was aware of our presence or attempting to elude the night patrolmen."

Edward sneered. "He's known for doing that," he said. He sat back, folding his arms relaxed over his chest. "So then, did you check the arcade?"

"Twice. We found nothing."

"Sam has taken up to keeping the arcade under strict lock and key, even more than it was before," Seth noted. "He claimed in a recent interview he was hoping to one day renovate the place, but not for a while."

"The digitizer must be there then," Edward insisted.

"Then it is hidden away very well."

Edward adjusted his glasses. "Or your men didn't look hard enough."

Seth's frown grew. "As it is," he said pointedly, "it is currently no longer of importance, now that our digitizer is up and running. It took some years for us to build the machine, let alone acquire information and parts."

Edward nodded. "Until J. D. Thorne came knocking on your door." The trio almost seemed surprised. "Simple mathematics, putting two and two together. Lora Banes, Walter Gibbs, Michelle Laney, and J. D. Thorne had been working on the digitizer project before it was shut down. Thorne was let go, and as I was told, did not exactly depart without making a scene." He spread his arms. "I take it he knew the basics, but accessing the parts and other vital information was the reason your digitizer took longer to build. That and he had to lay low for a while until the steam cooled; if fCon suddenly announced the invention of digitization, immediately he'd be found out and sued his ass off for breaching contract and leaking confidential files."

Eva smiled. "Very good, Edward," she chuckled. "You are correct on all accounts. And the reason you have not yet met Thorne is because he's been working out on the field." Edward immediately knew what she meant. "He has reported a lot of interesting happenings going on in the Grid. And we realized then and there it was the perfect time to strike."

"All crews need a captain," Esmond added lightly, "and so we found ourselves one."

Eva sat forward. "Think about the immense amount of power we'll have," she said, eyes twinkling, "if we manage to harness and control cyberspace, it will be the greatest achievement of all mankind since sending satellites into far galaxies and placing men on the moon."

"We'd have governments on their knees," Esmond sniggered, "we could access any system, any file or record under the tightest security with the simplest of ease."

Edward tapped a finger to his chin. "This all sounds rather omnipotent, don't you think? I want to say deus ex machina, almost."

And who didn't want to be a god?

"We've much more to tell you," Eva continued. "I'll let Esmond take the reigns from here."

Esmond beamed. "I was told you got a peek at one of my personal projects. Mike, for example, being one of its participants."

"The hackers?"

"Yes," Esmond said and nodded, "but 'hackers' is sort of a dirty term here." He narrowed an eye. "I prefer to call them DataWraiths..."

* * *

IIII

* * *

It took a little under an hour before Sam, Quorra, and Jethro arrived at TRON City. The ride had been as turbulent as Quorra said and as Sam remembered. He had knocked his head against the roof nearly four times the entire trip, and bouncing in Jethro's lap wasn't exactly comfortable, either. But they relaxed over time, Jethro flooding the ISO with questions regarding the Light Runner.

Finally, the vehicle parked along the very outskirt of the cities, where homeless data pushers found refuge. The Light Runner disappeared into Quorra's new baton, the three finding themselves in the middle of a slick alleyway.

"So we're in the ghetto?" Jet joked as he followed the two out into the street.

They checked the area for danger, but found no one. The buildings here were in ruin, run down and just as empty. Above the moving storm grumbled and the three walked down the desolate street. "I feel like we're the last people on the planet," Sam breathed.

Jet looked around. "Isn't the Grid supposed to be full of dozens and dozens of Programs?"

"The city isn't usually this quiet, even in this sector," Quorra murmured. She looked down every alley they passed, most of the lights from tall, cowering street lamps. "Something happened here. It may be empty now, but the danger hasn't left."

Sam grumbled. "Perfect." He eyed the skyline, watched as an oblivious Recognizer soared above, too high to spot them below. "This doesn't bode well for the city. I can only imagine the people here were either evacuated or..." He didn't bother to finish.

Jethro shrugged. "Well, I mean, at least we're not in the middle of a stampede of screaming, flailing people, risking getting trampled to death by them or the tanks," he offered.

"We could be walking into an ambush," Sam suggested. He moved toward the sidewalk. "Let's keep to the alleys, out of the open. Try not to stick out..." He paused, eyed his friends. Quorra was still in her jeans and sweater, Jethro in his varsity jacket and jeans. And he wasn't exactly dressed any different himself. "... Too much."

The group continued further down the street, watching out for any activity. It was nearly fifteen minutes, and there wasn't even a bit to be accounted for.

Jethro took a deep breath, started to relax. "I don't - "

Quorra gasped and grabbed each of her friends' wrists, yanking them back and away. A few seconds later, the distant hum from above turned into a loud shriek as a blue Light Fighter crashed nose first into the road. The three gasped and continued running as the plane skidded along the ground, kicking up gravel. Quorra could feel the heat of the Light Fighter nearly catching up to her, just a few yards away - Sam took her by the hand and yanked her into an alley, moments before she could be flattened.

The Light Fighter groaned to a stop a minute later, leaving behind a trail of smoke and debris. Its once bright blue lights flickered off and all went still. Sam carefully peeked out of the alley, eyed the ship with wide eyes before a gust of wind forced his head around and up. Another Light Fighter was landing a short distance behind the crash.

Unlike the other Fighter, this one was intact and sporting stripes of menacing orange and yellow. Sam whirled around, pushing the two down the alley. "We gotta get out of here!" he gasped. "Now!"

"Wait, what's going on?"

The orange Light Fighter settled, a hatch door opening and releasing a group of Black Guards. They ran for the dead ship, discs and light poles in hand. The group never stopped to turn and look back, running as fast as their feet could take them.

"... for the Users!"

Quorra and Sam stopped, turning around. The mouth of the alley was at least twenty feet away, and before it clashed a group of Black Guards and Programs in blue.

"The ship had survivors," the ISO whispered.

"Why are they fighting?" Jet demanded. "And who are the good guys? Blue or yellow? My money's on blue. Blue is always the good guy color."

Quorra faced the younger User. "Sam, we have to do something!" she insisted, squeezing his arm. "We can't abandon them! They may need our help!"

"We're not prepared to fight!" Sam insisted.

"We have our discs!"

"Yes, but - "

"I don't have a disc!"

"Please, Sam," Quorra pleaded, eyes turning glassy. "We can't just run..."

Dammit. This was not why Sam came back to the Grid. He wanted to accept his father's demise, he wanted to simply observe. Then if anything was wrong, they would go back and think of the next step to take.

But _Goddammit_ if Quorra wasn't right.

Sam took a deep breath. "All right," he said, sternly, removing the disc from his back. The ISO's face lit up, and she did the same. "Jethro." He pointed to emergency stairs along the building leading into emptied rooms. "Get inside. You're safer there."

Jet blanched. "I'm not just gonna go and hide!"

"You're weaponless, you've never fought these guys before," Sam said. He grinned. "Sorry, buddy, but you're better sitting this one out." Jet was whining about something, but Sam's attention was back on Quorra. She smiled up at him. "I came to accept death, just not my own. Remember that, okay?"

The ISO raised her disc. "I'll protect you," she smirked and winked.

Jet chased after the two going into battle. "Guys!" he ranted.

"Get inside and _stay put_!"

Jethro stopped, jaw hanging and eyes blinking. "You always did this when we played doubles," he cursed, kicking the ground.

* * *

IIII

* * *

The Programs hadn't even noticed the strangely clothed foreigners jumping into battle. The Black Guards only knew they were their enemies. Quorra jumped forward, blocking the swinging electric stick of a guard about to stab a wounded Rebel. Thrusting her disc aside, the guard stumbled back and she advanced, once more meeting weapon to weapon.

Sam charged around a few Programs in a cluster, finally attracting the attention of a guard. The corrupted Program followed him until they met face to face at the edge of the group. They threw their discs; Sam flipped away, while his went right through the Program's head, instantly derezzing him. Sam jumped forward, grabbed his disc just in time to toss it at another advancing guard, slicing off his leg to topple to the ground. A Rebel was quick to finish him off.

Quorra had managed to destroy two guards, but not without risking her own life. The shadow drawing over her alerted the ISO, forcing her around and back as the disc cut through the air where she once stood. She backhanded the guard, sending him flying aside; with a squat, she jumped, landed on his shoulders and on her feet behind him, twisting back to derezz him in half before he could even turn around.

Meanwhile, Jet cursed a million obscenities under his breath as he climbed the stairs and clumsily fell through the window of an empty apartment.

Sam fenced disc to disc with another guard, leading him back and around. He looked over and found another Program was doing the same. The Rebel stared at him, confused at his presence, before they seemed to make a silent connection. Sam nodded and returned back to his fight, maneuvering the guard around and back. The Program was doing the same, until the guards were surprised to bump against one another.

Sam and the Rebel sliced off the guard's hands, took their light bos and shoved them through, until they saw the tip of each others' poles poking out the corrupted Programs' chests. When they removed the staffs, the guards derezzed into piles of crystal at their feet, leaving the two to look up and meet each other face to face.

"I dunno who or what the frag you are," the Rebel chuckled, "but you're pretty good."

"Name's Sam," he smirked and shook his hand. "I fight for the Users, you could say."

Quorra hissed as a disc grazed her arm, just below where a skin sample had been taken hours earlier. "Of course it had to be this arm," she grumbled. The guard thrust his light bo at her; the ISO jumped aside, grabbed the extended staff quickly and used it to yank the corrupted Program forward to meet her foot in his solar plexus. Quorra felt a shock dance up her arm, but Hell, it was obviously not the first time. "Worth it," she scowled, foot pinning the guard down as she derezzed him.

Jethro checked if the abandoned apartment was empty of life before running to the window overlooking the riot below. He was three stories up, able to see the battle perfectly. From the looks of it, the Rebels seemed to be winning, the yellow circuited soldiers dwindling down in numbers. The sight of them exploding into pieces was a shock, however, though not without its morbid beauty.

Jet could easily spot Quorra and Sam. They really did stick out. Both were holding up quite well, no visible signs of troubling wounds or -

It was the scream from right below him that caused Jet to look down. Two guards were looming over one Program, a female. She was trying to fight them off, only to have her disc taken and slowly forced into a corner against the wall.

"Shitshitshit," Jethro cursed, quickly looking around the room.

With a small 'aha', he picked up what appeared to be a little TV. It was relatively heavy and should do the trick. Back at the window, he held out the TV, lining it up with one of the guard's heads. With a grunt, he threw it down; it had been a success. The boxy object crashed on top of the guard's head, sending him stumbling before collapsing.

Both the second guard and female looked up and saw Jet nervously smiling down at them, half his body hanging out the window. With a snarl, the guard threw his disc. Jet screamed, twisting aside to miss its blow; he lost his balance, and a second later, found himself falling out the window and hitting the pavement. He could hear the thumping vibrations on the street, the blood rushing in his ears.

Jethro groaned, rolling his head side to side. Finally, he turned onto his stomach, feeling the back of his head. No cut, no blood, but he was sure to get a nice bruise. At least he was alive. Until he lifted his head and found himself face to face with the now conscious guard he dropped the TV on. Jet moaned around his grin as the guard growled furiously.

His head swum as he pushed himself to his feet, but it was worth it. His life was worth it. Jethro fell back as the guard charged at him. Now his back was against the wall, and he was pretty sure no one above was going to drop a TV on the guy's head again. The guard produced his light bo, and what might have been showing off, twirled it in both hands like a professional martial artist. It might also have been to scare the piss out of Jethro, to which it was working.

Still, Jethro wasn't going to go down like this. He might have been weaponless, but he still had his physical strength. "All right then, all right then," he snorted, raising his fists. He glowered as the guard stopped, letting his bo rest against his side. "Come at me, then, come on!"

The corrupted Program had meant to run his staff through the User before something smacked him upside the head. He growled, whirling around. The female Program from before faced him, holding the guard's now derezzed companion's light bo. She shouted a battle cry and struck pole to pole with her enemy. Jethro watched in awe and silence as they fought. The corrupted Program had skills, but she seemed to easily match them, hissing and snarling as she blocked every single one of his blows.

Finally, in just one split second of an opening, the Rebel kicked the bo from his hand. He was utterly helpless now. She moved with speed and agility. A punch to his face that cracked his helmet, a kick to his gut, a strike to his exposed chin, another upside the head, _one between the legs,_ and finally a combo sucker punch - under chin again, then stomach, before she stepped back, let the guard sway then fall to his knees. Before he could hit the ground, the Rebel took her disc and beheaded him.

Jethro and the Program stood face to face, and now he could finally get a good look at her. She was tall, lithe, almost too skinny to appear as such a strong fighter. Her suit was black with thick blue circuits that flowed like water around her torso, arms and calves; armor covered her forearms, hands and legs. Her helmet was open, melting into spiky tips at the back, displaying a gentle face and bright blue eyes that matched the color of trimmed brows and lips.

Jethro could only describe her as beautiful.

The Program smiled. "Thanks for saving me," she said. Her voice was mature, but there was a friendly edge in her tone.

"T-Thanks right back," Jethro tittered.

"Mercury," she said, tossing him the guard's light bo, "you?"

Jethro caught it with fumbling hands. "Jethro. Call - call me Jet."

Mercury giggled. "Funny designation you got there, Program. Guess it matches your attire." She tilted her head in the direction of the battle. "Care to lend a hand, 'Jet'?"

The User slowly beamed. "Y-Yeah!"

The fight hadn't lasted very long afterward. Sam had been the first to notice Jethro taking on the guards. He didn't have time to ask why he was there and how he got a hold of the light bo. A female Rebel was fighting by his side, appearing to help him along. With an exasperated growl, he turned to derezz another guard.

Suddenly, the Light Fighter gave a roar, attracting everyone's attention. Its orange colors melted into a pale blue, a Rebel signing something from the captain's window. "He's got the ship!" someone shouted, followed by cheers.

The Rebels immediately swarmed for the new ship, taking out any guard attempting to stop them. Sam waited until Quorra caught up. "I guess we just follow the crowd!" he laughed over all the noise.

"Looks like Jet's all ready there!" the ISO shouted back. Sam looked forward, spotting the female Rebel helping his friend into the ship. Jet stopped and looked around before catching sight of the two, waving them over. The guards backed off, down to only a handful, watching helplessly as the Rebels took over their Light Runner.

"Dangerous but fun as Hell!" Jethro cackled, taking Sam's hand and pulling him in. Mercury helped Quorra up, the four running into the hanger as the door slowly shut. A guard came rushing forward, diving and slipping through the near closed hatch. With a snarl, he threw his disc, derezzing two Rebels.

Sam darted after the guard, colliding disc to disc. The User's blow was hard enough to knock the enemy's disc free. A fatal gash down the torso turned the corrupted Program to pixels.

The Light Fighter grumbled before finally taking flight.

Jethro and Quorra ran to Sam. "You okay, buddy?" Jet asked, still clutching the light bo.

"You're not injured, are you?" the ISO worried. Her hands smoothed along his face, through his hair, and Sam blushed instantly.

"Mm'fine. Just a little sore." Sam looked to his old friend, snorting. "How the Hell did you get a hold of that?"

"I dropped a TV on an orange guy's head and one thing led to another..."

"You are Sam Flynn, are you not?"

It was then the trio noticed how quiet the hanger had become, and how every Rebel had their wide, fascinated eyes on them. It was Mercury who spoke, venturing forward.

"I," Sam said, looked at his friends, "I am Sam Flynn."

A hushed whisper rippled through the Programs. "The son of the Creator," Mercury said, "you who helped to defeat Clu. It was so long ago, we did not expect to see you again."

"The feeling's mutual," Sam chuckled. He walked up at Mercury, stared into her lucid blue eyes. "And I think a little update on what's going on is in order."

Mercury scanned the two Users and ISO, looked back at her awed comrades. "We are heading back to our headquarters," she informed, "there our leader, Kernel, will tell you everything."

* * *

Below, the scattered guards quickly salvaged whatever they could. They were only ten now, originally starting out as thirty. Their commander, having taken over for their previous derezzed one, quickly called in for backup. A few guards stopped to stare bitterly as their Light Runner flew higher and higher into the skies.

Another set of eyes watched from the safety of a nearby rooftop. Once the ship was out of view, it took off in a flash of electric purple.

* * *

IIII

* * *

The report came in a half hour later.

Wisteria read the datapad, sitting in her former leader's throne. "A small loss," she said, handing the 'pad back to Malvir, "but a loss nonetheless." She glared at the smaller Program. "We'll need those replacements soon."

"It won't be much longer," Malvir assured. Behind him, half his prisoner-guards lurked, watching and waiting for any commands. The other half, however -

"Sir!"

Everyone's direction turned to the doors, Wisteria keeping to the window. Malvir's second in command, a sporty, strong Program named Rome, came crashing inside like a hurricane. "A guest has arrived and they refuse to leave until they see Wisteria!"

"I have no business with anyone," Wisteria snapped, "send them away."

Rome gulped. "Milady," he mumbled, "he's a _User_."

The atmosphere suddenly turned tense. Malvir's circuits flickered, turning to look at the female Program. Wisteria rose her head, cocked it slightly before turning it forward again. "Right," she said, "see him in, then."

Rome was hesitant to leave. Malvir grunted and pointed forward, sending the stocky Program back out. Wisteria gathered to her feet and walked around the throne, the smaller Program joining her side. Just as she looked up, Rome and four other guards escorted the User inside. He was followed by two others, cloaked with faces hidden.

"It has been some time since we last spoke," Wisteria hummed.

Seth Crown nodded. "We have been busy," he stated.

"Have you brought me news?" Wisteria inquired. "It has been brought to my attention the gateway between your world and mine was opened one mega ago."

"We have only just arrived," Seth replied, confused.

Wisteria knitted her brows. "Then who has opened the other portal...?"

"Sam Flynn."

Heads turned as the cloaked figure on Seth's left stepped forward. "The son of the Creator, as you call him," he said, drawing back his hood. Edward adjusted his glasses, looked at the female Program. "If he's here, then that means we have perfect timing."

"The portal was thought to be destroyed after Kevin and Clu reintegrated," Malvir added.

"Apparently not," Edward said. He swept forward, nonchalant, eying the surroundings. "I am still fairly new to this whole digitization concept and your world, the Grid. But I learn rather fast." He approached Wisteria, prompting Malvir to step between them. She held out her hand, forcing her bodyguard to stand down. "From what I've seen, you've managed to keep things relatively stable."

"I need not be reminded of what I know, User."

Edward chuckled. "Forgive me," he said, "my name is Edward Dillinger, Jr." He didn't bother to initiate a handshake, and she didn't seem to mind. "However," he continued, "you're still lacking in power. I've gone over surveys of the Grid's recent activity, and turns out these Rebel forces are increasing."

Wisteria narrowed her eyes. "And what do you have to offer?"

"Oh," Edward sighed, as if he were talking to an oblivious little girl. "So much, you see." They met eye to eye; his gaze seemed so relaxed, aloof, but Wisteria could see the famous power of the Users burning behind those lenses. "And you're going to need all the help you can get."

* * *

TBC

**A/N**:  
Originally this was going to have another part (meeting Kernel) but I decided to wait until the next chapter. This one feels long/eventful enough without it.

Of course, Mercury and Kernel are characters from _Tron 2.0_. DataWraiths are as well, but they'll be explained later. As probably anyone can tell, Jet and any other 2.0 characters are written from my own perspective, so I may be really, really off. My apologies. The Hybridcycle is an original concept as well as the harnesses.

I am using a variety of technical time measurements. Mega comes from megasecond, which here stands for an hour. It can be termed as megasecond. Artistic liberties, I say.

I also got a question from a reviewer which I answered, and felt would be good to share with you all regarding Quorra's state of being in the real world:

Basically, it's all artistic liberties. In my story, when Quorra transported to the human realm, she pretty much stayed the same. She did not go flesh and blood, because Sam still bled in the Grid. I write she remains her ISO self, but has gained a few quirks. I have no clue if oxygen was in cyberspace, and if not, it was one of the things the humans immediately adjusted to. Breathing, for example, in cyberspace could just be an inherited act, like sighing. I write Quorra as having the ability to breathe, but it's open to interpretation if she does not need the oxygen to survive. What she does need is energy, which she gets from normal food/beverage, except her body reverts it to proper energy she's used to. I like to think it equally divides the energy so there is nothing to waste, and whatever is waste can be like an electric discharge or overload. (Ala, she doesn't need to go to the bathroom, haha.) I didn't give it too much thought on her breathing; you can imagine she's simply inhaling/exhaling for the fun of it, since consuming/releasing air isn't really difficult, especially for someone like her, or you can choose that she does need oxygen. Just whatever you think you'd like, because as far as I know, Disney might just have her full human.

When it comes to discs, I think they can live without them, but it's like having a doorway into your head/soul/etc. So you want to keep those safe. Quorra's was obviously left behind, unless I missed something.

Hope that answers/clears things up. C:


	4. Chapter 3

Eek, sorry, guys. This one was a bit late! But here is chapter three! Also, **please note**: I altered chapter two and excluded the bit regarding the pager, as doing a little more research helped me fix things up. Thanks as always for your reviews, faves and alerts! Hope this chapter continues satisfying!

* * *

**CHAPTER 3  
**

* * *

The electric storm's intensity had grown over the hours. The black clouds had increased, as did the lightning. The winds turned into gales, sweeping and rolling through the barrenlands mercilessly.

"It's amazing."

Mercury looked up from disc repairs at Jet nearby. The User was peering out one small window, watching the storm with a twinkle in his eyes. She chuckled. "Do you not have electric storms in your world, User?" she asked.

"We do," Jet mumbled, "but this is..." There were no words to describe it. No words to describe anything he'd seen so far. He turned to Mercury and asked, slightly concerned, "Is it safe flying through these storms?"

"Not usually," the Program replied. She finished repairs, placing the disc back in her plug. "But they are not without their advantages. It keeps our energy signatures off the radars, helps provide cover." Mercury approached Jet, stood beside him. "Light Fighters are rather tough, anyway."

Jet nodded. The plane flew through a cloud then back briefly into open space. Below, he could clearly see what looked like mountains, pitch black but glowing with crystals. "My God," he whispered then whistled. "Beautiful."

Mercury peered over his shoulder. "Ah," she giggled, "those are the Emulator Mountains." She pointed a gloved finger. "Those patches of light are sources of raw energy. To my knowledge, there used to be a mining facility stationed there, but it was wiped out long ago. Too dangerous, I suppose."

"The Emulator Mountains..." Jet hummed. Well, they did emulate real mountains rather well. He blinked then chuckled, looking to the Program. "My name's Jethro Bradley, like I told you. Just call me Jet. The User thing is kinda weird, you see..."

Mercury tilted her head. "You would not happen to be acquainted with User Alan-One?"

"Actually, he's my dad - my creator," Jet replied. "How'd you know?"

"Alan-One wrote Tron," Mercury smirked, "anyone can tell you that. Common knowledge here. It was Flynn who told us his User's name."

Jet laughed. "Suppose so." He looked around. "Hey, speaking of which - Where is Tron? I'd think he'd be with you guys..."

The Program frowned. "Tron was derezzed many cycles ago," she murmured. Jet winced. "Were you not informed?"

"I guess there was no reason..." the User trailed off. What he deemed a simple program they saw as a fellow living entity, a hero. Now he felt a little guilty for deleting so many programs in the past.

Mercury nodded sadly. "He was a great Program," she said, looking out the window, "a tragic loss to the entire system."

Jet bowed his head. "Yeah," he murmured, "I can imagine." And he could. If the premise of the video game TRON was anything like the Program, then the man was a hero.

Too bad he wasn't around in a time of obvious need.

* * *

The interface projection flashed then disappeared, the disc's blue circuits softening their glow.

"There," Sam said, "all better."

Quorra brushed a hand over her arm. The wound was gone. "You're getting good at this," she chuckled, taking back her disc.

Sam laughed. "I can't say if the same tricks would work on me."

"Kevin never really discussed the relationship between User and Identity Disc," the ISO replied. "I never saw him making repairs with his disc to heal wounds. At least, not around me. He always preferred to heal like Users do. He said it made him feel human." She shook her head, soft black hair bouncing against her cheeks. "I suppose flesh and blood is not as easy to manipulate, in any case."

Sam frowned. "Well," he breathed, sitting forward and closer to Quorra, "that calls for an experiment. Next time I need some patching up, let's give this baby a try." He reached around, giving the top of his disc a slap.

Quorra chuckled. Her dark eyes scanned the ship, the Rebels huddling off in a corner. They chattered amongst themselves, some casting the foreigners looks of awe and suspicion. "We have been flying for quite some time, have you noticed?" she asked.

"Yeah," Sam murmured. "But thank God we haven't been blown out of the sky, at least. The sound of lightning is pretty intense."

It would be another half hour before the Light Fighter tore through the storm and mist into dark and clearer skies. The trio huddled near the window, eyes widening. The ship was flying toward what appeared to be three worn and ancient towers. In the middle, the largest, the two others flanked at its side and twenty feet shorter. They immediately recognized the center building as an I/O tower.

"We're at the very edge of the Grid," Mercury informed. "This city once belonged to a small civilization before they merged into the population of TRON City. We call it Divide. It stands between the Grid and another system. Out here, we're safe."

Jet looked at the Program. "What makes you say that?"

"It must be the luck of the Users," Mercury smirked, "because six times out of ten, no one ever makes it back." The humans paled. "When we depart from Divide, we all know there is a high chance we may never return. This ride went rather smooth, shockingly enough." She winked. "I'll just stick to believing you two boys had something to do with it."

Sam tittered. "Well, then, you're welcome?"

The Light Fighter landed carefully before the I/O tower, its passengers unloading a minute later. Sam, Quorra, and Jet stuck with Mercury at the front of the group as they approached a giant platform separating the towers from the outside world. Mercury walked up a few steps, the back of a cloaked figure turned to her. "I-No! I-No, we've returned!"

The platform groaned as it turned, the Tower Guardian looking over the group. He was an old man, still sporting the retired white and blue outfit of the old system. "You are without a dozen others," he noted.

"We have suffered losses, but gained great treasure," Mercury replied. She gestured the trio forward. "Among us we have two Users!"

I-No blanched. "T-Two?" He leaned forward, squinting his tiny eyes. Sam and Jet waved nervously, smiles matching. "My word, it's been... My memory banks can hardly recall the last time I interacted with a User." He chuckled, voice a soft wheeze. "This is astonishing news! Surely, a sign of hope!"

"That is what we hope to believe as well," Mercury said, flashing a smile at the three.

"Kernel will be most delighted," the Tower Guardian replied with a hint of sarcasm. He rose his hand to Mercury, but kept his eyes on the three newcomers. "You have been permitted entrance. All that is visible must grow beyond itself, and extend into the realm of the invisible." With that, the platform parted like steel gates, taking I-No aside.

As the Rebels moved into the city, I-No swatted a hand down at Sam. "Do visit me sometime when you're not too busy," he snickered, "I'd love to hear about your so-called 'new, upgraded' Tower Guardians. Gotten all fancy now, they say."

Sam grinned. "I'll see what I can do."

* * *

IIII

* * *

Mercury had taken the group to the far right tower; upon entering, dozens of surprised gazes fell upon them. Rebel Programs were huddled together at desks and screens, speaking among each other or working out new strategies and game plans. Only a few of the Programs actually left their posts to greet their returning comrades; everyone else went back to their work and conversations.

"Lively bunch here," Jet murmured.

Mercury faced her group. "You've got fifteen minutes before we meet for debriefing. Dismissed," she ordered. With that, her crew scampered, disappearing into the woodwork of fellow Rebels and blue lights. The Program gestured Sam, Quorra ,and Jet to follow her, leading them into an elevator.

"Before I introduce you to Kernel," Mercury said, punching the top floor's button, "there are a few things you should know." The elevator hummed as it moved upward. "Kernel was a new addition to the Grid shortly before Clu took control. Kevin and Alan-One, your Creators, helped to write him together. As such, he is a very powerful Program, and nearly equal to the strength of Users."

Sam squinted. "I never heard of Kernel before. Was he built for security?"

Mercury nodded. "He was to help Tron patrol the Grid. When Clu overthrew Kevin and took over the system, Kernel nearly suffered deresolution five times." Quorra winced. "Clu apprehended him during a siege and attempted to reprogram him. However, due to his abnormal strength, it was impossible. He survived and escaped, but it took cycles to recover from the damage." She frowned. "I'm afraid to this microcycle he is not as strong as he once was. And..." Mercury flicked her eyes onto Sam and Jet. "... He's not very fond of Users."

"Not many of you guys are," Sam replied.

"He believes in the Users, fights ruthlessly for the Grid," Mercury said, "but after he was nearly rewritten by Clu, he's become bitter. You can't really blame him, though. He might come off as rude or callous to you, but it's nothing personal. Just fair warning."

The elevator beeped, its doors parting. Following the female Program, they moved down a long egg-shell white corridor. Mercury hit a button on the panel beside the door at the very end of the hall. From above, an eye of blue winked open and a cold voice demanded, "Password."

"In the highest tower, a little bird doth rest; spread your wings," Mercury replied. The eye stared a moment before closing. The door rumbled as it unlocked; she turned and shrugged. "He's fond of poetry, specifically haiku."

Once the doors were completely open, the four stepped inside. It was a massive control room, the walls mounted with screens showing every nook and cranny of the tower and vicinities outside. Sam saw Kernel first, a giant, shadowy figure approaching them.

"You are aware I have recording Bits in the elevators, Mercury," the large Program said, his voice deep as thunder. "I don't particularly like my entire history given out on the first date, you know."

Mercury tittered. "Sorry, sir."

Kernel stood before Sam, Quorra, and Jet, a giant of eight feet with a firm, muscular body. Though he had a humanoid body, his head was more mutant, reptilian-like. He stood straight, hands behind his back, reminiscent a military man. Unlike the common blue of Rebels, his circuits were burning red. "Sam Flynn," he said, "what a surprise to see you again. Was your last adventure here unsatisfying?"

Sam blinked. "How do you..." He shook his head. "Nevermind."

"I see you've brought friends..." Kernel turned crimson eyes on Quorra and Jet. His stare lingered on the older boy. "Another User? As if one was not enough..." He raised a hand as Jet opened his mouth, grumbling, "Why have you come here? What business do you have with us? This is not the Internet's playground, you know."

"To be fair, sir," Mercury added, "I brought them here."

"I'll thank or reprimand you later."

"I came here to..." Sam wrestled with the word a moment. "To find closure over my dad's death." He frowned. "I bet you know all about that as well."

Kernel's eyes softened. "For a User, he was a good man," he mumbled. "But you will not find closure here." He moved away, heading for his desk. "I recommend you return to your world. The Grid is more dangerous than ever. On the verge of anarchy, with Wisteria barely keeping civilization from collapsing completely."

"We don't intend to leave," Quorra stated. "We want to help."

"Help?" Kernel laughed. "It took you long enough."

"Are you saying you don't need our help? Because I think you just might," Jet sneered, the giant Program casting him a glower.

"You'd hinder more than help, User."

Sam swept forward. "As I see it, having a User on your side is a great advantage," he said, grinned, "and having two - well, ain't that Christmas and a birthday right there."

Kernel ignored the strange terms. "Go home, User," he growled, "this war isn't a game."

"We're not leaving," Quorra insisted.

Mercury took her commander's side. "They could be valuable assets, and you know that," she whispered. "Why are you turning them away?"

"We're not asking for a reward, we're not here to overthrow you and take command," Sam reassured.

Kernel narrowed his eyes. "Your father, he was just as determined as you are right now," he said, "but as soon as the ISOs were destroyed, he locked himself away in solitude like a coward. Should things become too much for you to handle, how do I know you would not do the same?"

Quorra stormed over to the giant Program. "Kevin was no coward!" she hissed. "He suffered, you know. He never lived his surrender down. But he had no choice."

"No choice?" Kernal spat and laughed. "He was still capable of fighting, and yet he let nihilism hold him back!" He slammed a fist on the desk. "If anything, he should have fought until he died! Like a warrior!"

Quorra glowered. "Kevin was more a warrior than you and I combined."

The larger Program stood, looming over the ISO. "Despite what Mercury may have told you, I have seen more pain and suffering than this entire army combined!" He threw his hand aside. "And yet I did not retreat to lick my wounds like a pathetic little bit!"

Sam marched forward. "Enough!" he snapped. Quorra and Kernel turned eyes on him. "I don't care if you hate my father, I don't care if you're bitter or miserable," he snarled. He felt a strangling sensation in his chest; rage, hurt, and regret. "Look. My father died a hero, no matter what you choose to believe. He died to save the Grid. He sacrificed himself to stop Clu, to keep _both_ our worlds safe. My father put his entire _life_ into this system, only for it to destroy him, piece by piece, until he had no other option but to throw his soul away to save your sorry asses."

Kernel widened his eyes.

"Admittedly, I don't know how the Hell closure works. I don't. I figure time does the healing, but time is something neither of us have," Sam continued. He took up Quorra's side, glaring at the giant. "But I believe if I can help revive the Grid to her former glory, I think I'd find it. So, no, I'm not leaving," he touched the data stick around his neck, "not until I see this utopia my father loved and worked so hard for return."

"If you won't allow us to join you, fine," Quorra added. She stepped back. "We will go our separate ways."

Jet grinned. "Afraid I agree with them," he said, joining his friends, "I'm not going anywhere, either."

Kernel was left in silence then, eyes scanning the group before him. Mercury gave him a small nudge. He looked at her, at her warm, reassuring smile. A moment later, the giant Program sat, bridging his hands. "... You cannot fight in such flimsy attire," he grumbled.

Relief instantly cleared the atmosphere, though Sam still felt the lingering pain in his chest. "Well, then," he said, smiling weakly, "think you could help us out?"

* * *

IIII

* * *

Clu's tower held a bird's eye view of TRON City. There was nothing that could escape its vigil. Below, a mass of intricate buildings, all lit up in blues, white, and reds. A city that spread like wildfire, every structure unique and different than the other. Skyscrapers and towering giants, smaller residential areas that managed to still capture the city's breathtaking beauty. Though the skies were black and cold, spotted with ships of orange, the atmosphere tense and pressuring, they only made the Grid more beautiful, a rush of violet swallowing the city whole like a powerful aura.

Wisteria's men patrolled the streets, their light ribbons of yellow, orange, and pale red like violent stripes against the black of smooth gravel. They drove through the back alleys of slicked and rugged suburbs, cut down the length of the city's largest bridge that would put the Golden Gate to shame. The black sea was an unblemished reflection of the city, a shivering duplication of its surroundings. A mirror nearly perfecting what it mimicked.

Edward had never seen something nearly so beautiful.

From the highest story of the tower, he took in everything. Every fiber of his being soaked in the Grid's alien beauty. All five senses enriched by the details, by the _power_. Edward had never known real fear, but this world... It brought a shiver cold down his spine. The possibilities were many, and his hands, raised to the glass, looked spread over the city. Like it was his, like this world was his to mold, to transform and change.

Just below, the game arenas. Still lit up brightly, but empty of challengers, the large stadium's bleachers emptied from its usual wild, massive crowds.

"... neglected."

Edward hadn't noticed Wisteria as she strolled to his side, looked down at the stadium alongside him. "It has been many cycles since we last held the games."

"What kind of games?"

Wisteria's electric blue eyes met his. "Fatal," she said, and turned away. "The beauty of the Grid cannot be experienced simply by admiring its layout alone." She moved across the room, hands behind her back. "And if your people," Wisteria looked to Seth and Eva at the doors, two guards and Malvir close at their sides, "prove your worth, I will see that you get a personal tour of the Grid when everything is said and done."

Edward chuckled. "I look forward to it."

"Then you do not mind if we get back to business?" Wisteria's tone was biting. "I would like to see these so-called weapons of yours you insisted will benefit my army."

Edward adjusted his glasses. "Yes, of course," he said, "I seemed to have gotten distracted by your lovely city." He moved back to the female Program's side, hand up his sleeve. "Be careful." With a soft hum, Edward tossed the tube at Wisteria.

She caught it one-handed, held it to her face, and turned it in her fingers. A translucent and thick tube filled with a brilliant green substance, her reflection barely visible in its surface. Wisteria looked at Edward for an explanation.

"First off, I would like to thank the lovely folks at Future Control Industries for providing me with the tools necessary to make the weapon you now hold in your hands."

Eva smiled, but Seth looked hardly flattered.

"During my run at ENCOM, I had been working on an advanced software eliminating program. With one simple click of a button, the program would activate and any software, regardless of levels of security and strength, would be annihilated in ten seconds flat." He snapped his fingers for emphasis. Wisteria eyed the tube, suddenly intrigued. "I had been in the middle of my project before I was removed from ENCOM. Without the proper tech and funding, I was unable to finish it," he continued, squinting his eyes and pinching finger and thumb together. "So close, too, so _very_ close."

"Your comrades provided you with what you needed," Wisteria said, nodded to Eva and Seth. "And you have accomplished your goal." She held up the tube.

Edward smiled. "Exactly," he said, pointed, "what you hold in your very hands is the Z-Lot prototype. Granted, I have not had enough time to improve or tinker with it, but test runs have shown it works as I suspected." He approached the Program, moving closer until Malvir was suddenly at their sides, making sure he remained a respectful distance. Edward smirked at the smaller man. "I discovered quickly inside the Grid that my status as 'User' gives me amazing powers of manipulation. Turning solids into liquids, for example, as you see the Z-Lot now."

"From what you told me," Wisteria said, "the Z-Lot supposedly has the power to eliminate software within ten... seconds, so you say."

Edward nodded. "In a sense," he murmured, reached up to barely brush fingers along the tube, "it is much like a puppet, and I am the puppeteer. Through my commands, and my coding alone, it will destroy whatever I program it to." His eyes peered through thick lenses glowing with light, into Wisteria's. "Programs included."

Wisteria looked his mischievous grin over. "Provide evidence," she ordered, shoving the tube back into the User's hands.

Edward smiled. "Of course, of course." He nodded to Eva. She walked over, produced a cube from her robe and handed it to the younger man. Wisteria's eyes followed its transfer from one User to another. When Edward held it up, she could clearly see a small Bit trapped inside, bouncing energetically in the glass.

"We found this stray lurking outside," Edward said. "A fine guinea pig, wouldn't you say?" The female Program did not recognize the choice of words, and he laughed softly.

Eva took the tube of Z-Lot as she removed a small syringe and needle from her pocket. Malvir meant to disarm her, only for Wisteria to grunt and force him to stand down. Eva slipped the needle into a small nodule on the tube's bottom end; extracted and filled the syringe whole with the bright green fluid. "Here we are," she chuckled, handing the needle to Edward.

Edward took the needle silently. He gave a forced smile of gratitude and nothing more. "Now..." he mumbled, carefully opening the lid of the cube. The Bit flashed and went to flee before Edward clutched it in his hand, squeezing it tight. The User's power weakened the Bit, forcing it to pant soft blue and red in his hand.

"For a subject this size, it will take very little," Edward said. The Bit shivered as the needle pierced its surface, injecting only 1ml of the Z-Lot inside. Once the chemical hit the Bit's core, it gave a fierce shiver.

Edward tossed the creature into the air, all eyes following; the Bit turned a piercing green, all motor functions offlined as it descended like a stone to the ground. It hit the floor, shattering into hundreds of shards. The shards then proceeded to vaporize until nothing was left but smoke. "With a Bit, it may not seem like much," Edward noted, "but on a Program, it would take only a few seconds before it reached your system, your ID, and wiped it clean. You need not give a fatal blow. One simple _prick_ and it works instantly."

Wisteria narrowed her eyes. "There would be no remains? No chance of recovery?"

"None whatsoever," Edward replied with a cheerful smile. "Deresolution would be quick and... almost painless." He handed the needle back to Eva. "A swift and efficient 'virus' that leaves nothing behind but the fresh smell of pine." Malvir turned to address him with that concealed but judgmental gaze. The User chuckled and shrugged. "I couldn't pass the opportunity up, I apologize."

Wisteria watched as Eva took the tube and needle away, quickly securing them in a small metal box Seth had brought along. "This virus... You said it can be isolated. To attack only those of your choosing." She looked back to Edward, who nodded. "Programs each have unique signatures, but we do share a few differences. We all contain a certain strand of code that can become corrupted." The outline of her smile was sharp against the mask. "Evidence of the code's malfunctioning is apparent in the color of the Program's circuitry. As you can see clearly, our coding was corrupted."

"By choice?"

Wisteria scowled. "Of course," she hissed, voice lowering, "though not everyone, unfortunately. This strand of code remains 'uncorrupted' by the Rebels, evidence of their blue circuitry. Data pushers and neutrals, however, have more dormant coding. ISOs were said to lack them all together, having further separated themselves from Basics."

Edward tapped a finger to his chin. "I see then," he hummed, "you want me to program the Z-Lot to only attack and destroy uncorrupted and clean coding?"

"This is possible, is it not?" Wisteria replied. "The Rebels are our enemies. They should be the Z-Lot's targets."

The User nodded then chuckled. "Of course," he said, "this would help to avoid accidents should one or more of your men be exposed." Though, of course, the Z-Lot could very easily change to any and all targets should Edward want it so. The Z-Lot in the hands of others would retain their coding, but in his, it was a simple mental flick of his wrist and any and everything would suffer.

Wisteria need not know this, however, so he said nothing and kept smiling.

There came a soft beeping from across the room, Wisteria and Edward turning eyes on Seth. The stoic man checked his watch and looked up. "Thorne's back," he said, "he's got the guns. When you're all ready."

Malvir tilted his head. "Guns?"

Seth calmly removed a unique and specially crafted handgun from his holster. It appeared like any other, with a sleek silver surface and a narrow long barrel. There was a slot in the back, however, where a magazine of bullets would be loaded, and small bulbs along the top of its nose.

"What are those for?" Wisteria demanded.

Eva handed Seth the tube of Z-Lot. He slipped it into the slot, loading the gun and firing up the bulbs with piercing green light as they made the connection. "We have the ammunition," Edward chuckled, "and now we need the execution."

* * *

IIII

* * *

Mercury and Kernel had taken Sam, Quorra, and Jet to the briefing room, where the survivors of their party waited. They had been seated in the back to hang in the shadows, to simply listen and observe.

Kernel took each disc from the Rebels, examined and went through their records like video replays of their battle before returning them. Mercury gave hers last, the giant Program watching Jet save his comrade from the black guards, only to need his own ass saved. He had seen through the other Programs' discs some of Quorra and Sam fighting, but his face gave no expression to suggest what he felt, if he approved of their skills.

"In the end, the run was unsuccessful," Kernel said to the crowd. "You managed to disable the factory, cutting power from Sectors 3 and 9. However, it was a small hit and one easy to recover from."

Mercury said, "But we've at least disabled the Sectors for a few microcycles. Not to mention, we were able to siphon the energy."

"Very little," Kernel replied, "as the ship carrying most of it was destroyed. You recovered only a small portion, if the data I have seen is correct." Mercury frowned, sitting back in silence. "Another run will be in order tomorrow. We have enough rations to last us four microcycles, but we _need_ the extra power if we are going to keep Divide running properly." There were no arguments, just heads bowed with disappointment.

Kernel looked to the three strangers at the back of the room. "As you are all aware of by now, we are in the company of two Users and a new Program," he said. Eyes turned to the newcomers. "They have agreed to stay and help us fight. Though you may find their presence... distracting, I ask you to consider them as allies." His frown tightened. "You are not to give them any special treatment, either. They are scripts in arms here, not gods."

Jet chuckled. "He _really_ does not like us," he whispered to the others.

"You're dismissed."

The Programs gathered, quickly leaving the room. Kernel gestured Mercury over. "Get them cleaned up," he ordered. He looked back to the trio. "Mercury will be taking you to the armory to see you are suited with the proper gear." With that, he left, bulky feet stomping along the floor.

* * *

"Just how many Programs live here?"

Sam, Quorra, and Jet studied the large floor room where Programs were working about like bees in a hive.

Mercury looked back and smiled. "A little over four hundred," she answered.

Jet whistled.

"The Rebels," Quorra said, "do they all reside here in Divide?"

"No," Mercury replied, "we are divided into three stations. Our smallest group in TRON City, and the third clear on the other side of the Grid. As it is, we remain the second largest, our largest group consisting of six hundred or so."

"So, what, that gives you something around a thousand soldiers? Sounds like you got a pretty good army."

"Not really," Mercury said, "considering Wisteria's army is above ours in count, as well as the many neutrals and data pushers under her control."

The Programs around the group eyed the strangers, some inquisitive, some nervous. Very few came close or made eye contact. "We must look like aliens to these guys," Sam chuckled.

"We are all wary of outsiders," Mercury replied, "they'll warm up eventually."

The trip took them down a few more winding corridors, until they had reached the bottom floor. The moment the doors opened, a figure popped out with an excited cry.

"Weee-ell, ell! Looovely to see you, Merc, as always!" the Program laughed, roughly shaking Mercury's hand. He was dressed in a crisp white suit, his eyes milk white, and shiny hair combed back. He almost looked as if he were made entirely out of plastic. "I was waaaiting for you guys ever since Kernel gave me a buzz!"

Mercury giggled. "This is Max," she said.

"And yooou must be the two Users!" Max chirped. He ran forward, giving Sam and Jet handshakes with both hands. "My word word word, I've never met a User and the microcycle I do, I get two! Amazing!" He released hands and smacked the baffled looking men on the shoulders. Max spun on heel to face Quorra, his perfect brows wiggling. "Annnd this must be the new pretty petite Program they brought along for the ride!"

Mercury waved a hand. "Don't mind Max," she chuckled, the Program bending down to pluck a kiss on Quorra's hand. "He's always this weird."

Max threw open his arms. "We don't get new faces here very often!" he exclaimed. "And eeek," he slapped hands to his porcelain cheeks, "they've come all the way down here to see li'l ole meeee!" Mercury went to speak, but he raised his hand and gave a big dramatic sigh. "Oh, I know, I knooow. They want the laaaaadies." He turned, gave double barrel snaps to the platform behind him.

Sam, Quorra, and Jet turned their attention away from the bouncy Program at the sound of echoing footfalls. From the shadows, two Sirens appeared, their once white circuits hinted with a glow of blue. Sam immediately recognized them; they had been working with Gem and a fourth Siren, suiting him up for the games when he first arrived on the Grid.

"Columba," Max said, swung an arm over the dark skinned Siren, "Cygnus," he purred, arm over the second Siren's shoulders, "these are the newbs everyone's been talkin' about. And they've come here for our services!"

Columba smiled at Sam, smoky eyes softening. "We have met before," she said.

Max clapped. "Oh! Well, then! Why didn't you say that before? Silly!" he giggled and swatted a hand. He rushed over to the group, carelessly nudged and pushed them toward the waiting Sirens. "Well, go on, go on, I know one of you ain't shy!" he snickered and winked.

Sam stumbled to a stop before Columba. "H-Hey," he chuckled.

"Welcome back, Sam Flynn," the Siren replied.

"Weren't there more of you?"

"Gem was derezzed." Sam couldn't find it in himself to feel bad about that. "Grus serves Wisteria." Cygnus and Columba looked to one another; robotic, almost, no hint of grief or pain. "We will now begin the transformation," they said in perfect unison.

"The transfor-?" Jet jumped when the two suddenly knelt before them. Columba pressed index finger to the cuff of Jet's pants leg, rising and dragging the digit up his leg, along his hips, all the way up to his shoulder. He looked to see Cygnus was doing the same to Sam, and figured it better not to push her away. "What are - " He jumped as his clothes practically evaporated from his body, leaving him in his boxers alone. Jet threw his hands over his crotch. "What is - !"

"Relax," Mercury chuckled from nearby.

Sam didn't seem to mind suddenly being stripped to his drawers. "You get used to it," he smirked.

The process was repeated, but when the Sirens drew their fingers up a second time, clothing began to appear. The latex, chainlink mesh, and leather coiled and wrapped around their bodies, fitting neat and snug. It was as if they were growing a second skin, Jet's mouth gaping as he held out his arms and watched the sleeves and gloves grow.

Sam examined his suit; it hadn't changed since he was last here. Cygnus went to prepare Quorra. Columba had left Jet to stare in awe and shock over his new outfit. It wasn't very different from Sam's, save there appeared to be more circuits, and in different locations and design.

"Fits nicely, doesn't it?" Sam joked, clenching his hand in the two fingered glove.

Jet laughed uneasily. "This is," he swallowed, "this is unexpected."

"Just thank us later!" Max giggled. The User jumped when he suddenly clapped armor-pads on his shoulders. "Trust me, you're gonna need 'em."

Quorra pressed a hand over her ISO mark, hoping Cygnus had not noticed. The Siren didn't seem to mind nor care, waited until she was suited up before gathering the armor. Quorra dropped her arms, studied her outfit. "Just like old times," she chuckled, tugging at the short leather skirt.

With Max and Mercury's help, the three were geared up with more armor. "Helmets check out okay?" Mercury inquired.

Sam summoned his, felt back of his head cupped before the glass top slipped over his face. "Good for me," he said, the shield and armor retracting again. Quorra felt her helmet as soon as it pulled on, made sure everything was in place before folding it back. Sam looked to his friend who was staring at them in awe. "Yours?"

Jet blinked. "How do I - ?" It came naturally then, a mental command, before Jet's entire head was swallowed by a thick black helmet. There were two spheres on each side, glowing as bright as the circuits on his suit. Jet was about to have a small panic attack before the helmet retracted, simply going by the command in his mind to _GET THE HELL OFF_. "J-Jesus..." He felt his face and head, made sure everything was intact.

Columba approached Jet, stride graceful in its mechanical groove. She held up a single disc, the User widening his eyes. "You will need this," she said.

"Finally!" Jet laughed happily as he turned, the Siren placing the disc in its plug between shoulderblades. A rush went through him, almost as if the air had been knocked from his lungs; Jet stumbled, quick to regain balance before Mercury could catch him. There was a moment of pain, very brief, and a small prickling sensation along his spine, before his body relaxed again. The User shook his head, screwed eyes shut before blinking. "That was weird."

"You have your own disc now, Jet," Quorra chuckled. She plucked the disc from his back, much to his shock. Nothing seemed to have changed at its removal, however. The disc itself was now glowing in circuits of blue. With eyes bright, he took the disc, ran a thumb over one pulsating line.

"Yeah," Sam snorted, "so be careful with it. Don't throw it around like you throw TVs."

Max's obnoxious cackle smothered Jet's. "Delightful! Now you're all pretty and ready for prom!" he squealed, thwacking them each on the back. "Yay! Now try not to get derezzed so soon in your lovely new gowns!"

* * *

IIII

* * *

The guns were interesting.

Definitely something new to the Grid. Never before had she seen a weapon similar to its design and purpose. Thorne had arrived with at least three dozen of them, lining them up on a glass table for the Program to examine. They took two different forms: the smaller hand guns, and those Thorne described as "sniper rifles, more or less". They were larger, heavier, but had a much wider range compared to their smaller counterparts.

Edward smacked a tube of Z-Lot in place on the gun. "Here," he said, offering the weapon to Wisteria. She looked at him, then to the gun, gloved hand carefully taking it in her fingers. It fit nice, compact and light, the green energy swishing inside the small tube.

"Now." Edward slowly moved around Wisteria. He held his hands to Malvir, assuring the Program he meant no harm. Malvir grumbled but stayed back, allowing the User to carefully slide his hands onto Wisteria's arms. She grunted, threw an elbow back; Edward stepped aside, barely missing a strike in the throat. "Sorry, sorry," he apologized, "just showing you how to hold the gun properly."

Wisteria slit her eyes. "You may use your words, User."

Edward chuckled, Eva looking mildly amused from her spot off to the side. He picked an emptied gun from the table. "Hold out your arms. Do it like this," he said, holding out the weapon. Wisteria carefully extended her arms, mirroring him. "Grip like this." She watched the way his fingers moved, clenched, quickly doing the same. Edward tapped a finger against the trigger. "This is the trigger. When you pull it - "

Wisteria cocked the gun and pulled the trigger. With a loud clap, it fired, releasing a bullet-sized projectile of the Z-Lot. Malvir ordered his men down, Eva and Seth jumping with surprise. The virus-bullet hit the wall across the room, instantly melting and eating away the data-made metal and steel.

Wisteria lowered the gun, eyed its smoking barrel. She looked up at Edward, who was watching the wall disintegrate. "Is that all it does?" she asked, cocking a brow. Her unimpressed tone just sent Edward into chuckles. The Program hefted the gun, weighing it. "You have programmed it to derezz only Rebel coding, correct?"

"Yes."

The Program eyed his face before she turned, pointed the gun at one of her own men. Before the guard could protest, she fired, shooting him in the shoulder. The guard gasped and writhed as the bullet went through his shoulder and out the other side. Besides earning himself a wound, nothing else happened. The wall behind him, however, started to simmer and melt. Eva paled a little, shocked at the Program's blatant disregard for her own men's lives.

Edward smiled, watched as Wisteria lowered the gun. Malvir took to his soldier's aide, quickly looking over the wound. Nothing fatal, and some minor work on his damaged coding would fix it up in no time.

"Are you satisfied?" Edward asked, softly.

"So far, I have found your offerings... satisfactory," Wisteria mumbled. She looked to the User. "I would like to keep this one."

"It's all yours."

"I want you to arm each of my men with one of these... guns," Wisteria ordered, "and have one of your Users train them on how to use your weapons."

Edward gestured to Thorne. "Of course," he agreed. "By tomorrow, your entire army should be outfitted with their own Z-Lot."

"Good."

Wisteria spoke with Edward and the Users for a while longer, making sure she knew everything regarding the guns and Z-Lot. Or what they wished to tell her. They left some hours later, leaving none of the weapons save Wisteria's. She ordered her men off on their duties until she was alone.

"You knew the one named Seth."

Wisteria stopped and turned. Malvir lingered behind her; she could almost see the suspicion through his helmet. "You were not alarmed at the presence of a User," he said, "and you addressed him as if you were acquainted."

Wisteria smirked. "I have met that User once before," she explained, "some metacycles ago. He told me his company wanted to strike up an alliance. Said soon he would return with others to make a peace offering, in hopes we may unite and work together."

"You believed him?"

"No," Wisteria said, "and I almost killed him."

Malvir asked, voice low, "Do you believe them now?"

"Of course not," she replied. "They have made great offerings, you cannot deny that. But it is not necessarily that I need nor want their weapons." She eyed her gun. "But the information and knowledge that they _have_ these weapons. If we know how their weapons work, if we have access to their powers, should they turn on us, we will have the knowledge and power it takes to defend ourselves. Especially if that User Edward can change the Z-Lot's command at will." Wisteria frowned. "I will try and find an antidote if such is possible, considering the User's powers."

Malvir tilted his head. "And that is all?"

Wisteria looked up, blinked. "What are you implying?" she demanded, brows knitting with frustration.

"I trust you know what you are doing," the smaller Program replied.

"Yes, and for now, that's all you're to do," Wisteria grumbled. "I must look over the newest reports. The fluctuations have continued, so I've been informed." She continued on her way, gun still in hand. Malvir watched her go, a few bodyguards stepping aside to allow her entrance to her room.

Malvir believed what she said. Most of it. _Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer_, he had heard somewhere before. He supposed that was her intention. Yet even as she swore it was nothing more but making sure they were protected and prepared for possible betrayal, he saw the way she looked at the gun, the Z-Lot.

Greed, hunger, and desire. That of a man who held the world in his hand and only craved more.

The same look the User Edward Dillinger, Jr. wore when they first met.

* * *

IIII

* * *

Of the four hundred Programs said to live in Divide, Sam, Quorra, and Jet had only met a little over sixty. After being suited up and given their weapons, Mercury took them to the rec room. It was much more relaxing compared to the stiff, nervous atmosphere of the other floors. A few Programs were kicking back and relaxing, enjoying drinks and much lighter conversations. A bartender was serving two Programs Sam recognized from the End of the Line club; the two DJs saw the group, raised their glasses to them then went back to their private chat.

Mercury gathered them drinks as they sat at a table in a far corner of the bar. "What is this?" Jet asked as soon as he took the tall glass of bubbly pink liquid.

"Energy," Quorra answered. "It's our main source of power. We need to consume it in order to survive. Like Users do with water."

"Filtered energy, but still good!" Mercury added, flicking the rim of her glass.

Sam took a swallow. "It won't hurt you," he chuckled, "it's sort of sweet, actually."

Jet shrugged and took a big gulp. He smacked his lips together, licked them. "... Pineapple?" he muttered, looking into the glass. They just laughed and let their bodies sink into the cushions, relaxing for the first time since their arrival.

As time passed, the discomfort and awkwardness began to melt away. Soon, other Programs slowly came over to join them. Just a couple, asking questions, fidgeting nervously; some skeptics, some fans. By two hours, almost everyone in the room was surrounding their table, Quorra going into detail about the differences between cyberspace and reality, Sam and Jet watching on as the Programs were completely mesmerized by her stories. The ISO herself was getting excited the more she told them.

"The one designated Sam. He looks a bit like the Creator," a female Program noted.

"Are you programmed like your Creator?" another asked. He pointed to Sam, eyes big. "He created you yet you barely resemble him physically."

Sam smiled. "Having kids and writing Programs are vastly different, guys..."

"The Creator once spoke of you," another Program chimed in. Sam looked up, surprised. This Program, tall and gangly, said, "He told us you were his 'son' and you were named 'Sam'. He said you were his 'light and life'. Though I still do not understand the connection. If you are of his life, then why is the Creator dead and yet you remain online?"

Sam winced, as so did Jet. But he couldn't be angry with the Program, couldn't hold his blunt question against him. "'Online', huh? It's... a long story," he mumbled, staring into his drink. The Program looked on, even more lost than before by the User's vague response. Instead, Jet took the reigns, explaining sunshine "since we're on the topic of light".

For a while longer, Sam listened to Jet go on about the sun and solar system, everyone eating what he said right up. Quorra was equally fascinated. However, after fifteen minutes and the ache in his chest having yet to subside, Sam quietly excused himself for some "fresh air". No one seemed to notice him leaving, too caught up in Jet's stories, though Quorra did attempt to join him. But he shook his head and went on alone.

* * *

IIII

* * *

It took a little wandering around and finally asking an annoyed Program for directions before Sam found himself outside. He made his way to the balcony, looking over the edge. He was thirty stories off the ground. His eyes turned to the sky, which remained an endless, clouded black. In the distance, Sam could make out I-No's form, the old Tower Guardian resting peacefully. No other soul in sight, and surrounding the three towers was nothing but endless miles of rugged, unmapped land.

It was only a matter of time before the Program's question returned to memory.

_He said you were his 'light and life'. Though I still do not understand the connection. If you are of his life, then why is the Creator gone and yet you remain online?_

Sam wondered if his father spoke of him often. If he was the type who only mentioned his family in passing, only when the topic was brought up. Or was he someone who always jumped at the chance to tell people about his son? Was he the guy who always carried a bulging wallet of photos of his kids, all too eager to whip them out and go on and on about them to anyone that chanced by?

For a while, Sam thought Kevin simply forgot about him. The man up and disappeared, after all. There had been years of anger, pure rage, and bad attitude, where he thought his father abandoned him. That the man was an irresponsible asshole who couldn't deal with the pressure of his company and the loss of his wife. What sort of man was he? Sam would scream this at his grandparents or Alan whenever the poor man would defend Kevin, try to find a reason he had left his son behind. What sort of man abandoned their kid like this? He'd lost his mother, of all things, and now his father?

Teen years, specifically. Those were the bad years. They tended to be, anyway. But as Sam stood there, looking into the world his father died for, he could so easily remember the nights where he laid in bed, so angry, wishing if his father was still alive, that he was killed. _No good fucking stiff, you deserve to die, you coward, you asshole, you prick_. Times where he'd change the bandage over his broken nose after a fight wishing the bastard was buried six feet under. Birthdays where he blew out candles hoping the dead beat dad really was dead.

Sam felt sick suddenly, his chest constricting. He leaned forward, hacking against his fist. The disgust, the shame, the pure regret washed through him, turning him sick. Hot tears formed in the corner of his eyes, and everything ached and hurt. God, he wished he could take it back, take it all back. He never meant it, he never wanted his dad dead, he was just angry, confused, ignorant, pressured by school and hormones and that terrible nightmare, the nightmare where he was laughing as he watched his dad die, and it suddenly filled his head and it took all his strength to keep him from throwing up.

Sam threw his head back, downing the rest of his glass. It burnt down his throat, into his sore belly. He slammed the glass down, nearly broke it on the railing as he took a deep breath of air, of nothing, it really didn't matter.

"Brooding never looked good on your father, nor does it on you."

Sam looked up, eyes still glazed.

Kernel slowly approached the young User, face stoic.

"Uh, heh, suppose you're right," Sam tittered, sniffing.

Kernel stood beside him, facing the Grid. His back was straight, arms behind him, looking just like a soldier. "Tomorrow I will be dispatching another team to TRON City to gather supplies," he stated.

"I know."

"Would you care to join them?"

Sam shrugged. "Yeah. Sure."

"Mercury told me your 'User magic' kept the ship from crashing on your trip back. Impressive, considering the storm."

Sam laughed, maybe a bit too loudly. "Well, you never know," he said.

Kernel tilted his head. "Haven't you a certain time limit to stay in the Grid?" he inquired.

It hit him, almost like a smack to the face. "Shit," Sam cursed, wincing. He looked up, hoping to see the portal's light in the clouds. Nothing; he was too far away from the city. "You're right. Shit, I forgot, got so caught up in..."

"Tomorrow, you will go with my men. Help them and then return to your world."

"I won't just - "

"Then," Kernel pressed, "reset the time. So that way the portal can remain open longer. Come back when you are finished. The time difference may be wide, but I will have some of my men wait for you to bring you back."

Sam blinked. "I... suppose you're right." Perhaps he should send Jet. The man still wasn't ready for this world. Hell, Sam doubted _he_ was. "Good plan. I only wish there was a chance to come and go at will, with no time restrictions."

Kernel shrugged. "Users have a way of changing things for their benefit," he snorted, "sooner or later, you may find a way."

Sam nodded.

For a bit, they enjoyed the silence. Kernel placed his hands on the railing and asked, "Do you wish for me to tell you about your father?"

"Please." The word came before he could stop himself.

Kernel squinted. "The history is long, as is the war. There is no proper way to begin the story, no way to fully explain all the details. The tragedies, the losses, the successes, and everything in between. But..." he paused. "... Sometime shortly after the war broke out, Flynn had gathered together a team. This was before he had gained enough followers to ensure an army, mind you. At the time, it was myself and three others."

"Who?"

"Yori, Ram, and Shaddox," the Program replied. "Our first agenda was to retrieve Tron. Though initially this was not in the plans." He shook his head. "Flynn and I both believed he had been derezzed. But Yori, Yori still hoped. She claimed she knew he was alive because of a 'connection'. I do not understand these connections, but some say they are deep bounds formed between two or more Programs upon exchanging data and coding to become part of the other, in a sense."

"Huh," Sam replied, gazing down, "that sounds very... romantic."

Kernel snorted. "Romantic, yes, but never proved real. Such notions are for the idealists and lovers," he said. "Nonetheless, Yori insisted Tron was alive and needed our help. There was no convincing her otherwise. Flynn allowed Yori to gather a team to stake out Clu's fortress, to search for any signs of Tron, but not to engage in battle. It was a rescue mission. Ram and myself volunteered to join her party.

"Everything had been going well, though fruitless. I thought the endeavor was pointless, but there was a chance to gather information, so I took it. We found no sign of Tron, but we at least got a good idea of the numbers Clu had gathered for his army, as well as more details on the modified tower." Kernel paused. "We were apprehended as we were about to give up our search and return to headquarters."

Sam inched closer. "What happened next?"

"We fought. We derezzed quite a few, just the three of us. But in the end, it simply wasn't enough," the Program replied. "We were soon outnumbered. I cannot remember much from then on. Clu had sent a then-nameless Program to take care of us. We'd come to find this Program was Rinzler. I remember fighting with him, astonished by his powers, his skill, and then... Then the explosion."

"Explosion?"

"A small team of rebels such as ourselves had suddenly ambushed the fortress. Clumsy and disorganized, the lot of them. Bombs were dropped, and I was caught in the first explosion. I fell offline for a length of time I cannot account for. When I woke again, guards were around me. I knew I was going to derezz soon if I did not reach help. There were five of them, and behind them I could see the destruction, and I knew... Ram and Yori, they had been in there..." Kernel tensed. "I might have been done for had Flynn not suddenly shown."

The Program looked down at Sam. "Flynn fought the guards off, and in the process, earned an almost fatal wound. Shaddox had gathered others who helped to carry us back to base, to fix us up. We believed Flynn was dying because he had lost too much of what you call 'blood'."

That ill feeling was returning to Sam's chest. "But... He survived."

Kernel nodded. "Rather it was by User power or those miracles he kept going on about, we do not know. Some say he used his disc to heal himself, though at the time it was believed such would not work with his 'DNA'," he explained. "Flynn took many metacycles to recover, but he often refused bed rest. We tried to stop him from overdoing himself, but he never listened. Once he pushed himself too far during recovery and opened the old wound." He sighed. "But as soon as he was awake again, he was back on his feet. Do you know why?"

Sam just looked at him.

"Because Flynn was determined to save the Grid," Kernel stated, "and return to his son. Some way, somehow."

Sam wasn't sure what to feel. There was pride, so much pride in his father for being so brave, considerate, and selfless. And then there was pain, knowing only now the extent of the suffering Kevin went through to get home. While his son was wishing he was dead. Sam ran a hand through his hair, attempting to push the self-loathing down. "Yeah. Sounds like the dad I know - the one everyone told me about." He smiled crookedly. "Big, stubborn ass."

Kernel cocked a brow. "Ass? I have not heard that term in many cycles." He paused. "Flynn had addressed me as an 'ass' on a number of occasions when we argued. He never bothered to explain to me what an 'ass' was."

The User choked on his laughter, stifling it back. "I-It's nothing, really," he snickered, and suddenly the warmth of amusement put him back at ease. "But, you know, I figure... Yori was brought over from the old system, like Tron. But Ram?" He looked at his empty glass. "Alan told me they found Ram's User, and reinstalled the program... So, basically, reinstalling is like a rebirth for you guys?"

"In a sense," Kernel replied, nodding, "though not necessarily. Once a Program is derezzed, it usually means their ultimate demise. However, copies can be made." Sam's brows climbed. "The Ram your father knew and lost during his battle with the MCP derezzed, and was never recovered. The Ram from the re-installation was an entirely new copy. He shared his predecessor's form, his personality, but none of his memories. A copy of the original, but not the original."

Sam understood well enough. "I see..."

"There are two ways to rerezz a former Program," Kernel explained. "The most tedious and less likely is exchanging memory data from disc to disc. All memory and knowledge you have on a Program can be transferred to the new Program, and you can hope, I suppose, they would react in the same way as their predecessor would to the memories. Even then, they are simply mimicking, not reviving their old selves. Essentially, it is rather futile, unless the data is useful. Still, you would need a copy and Programs cannot write Programs."

"What's the second option, then?" Sam asked.

"That, only a User can do, and even then, you need their Identity Disc or at least a portion of it," the Program explained. "The ID contains your entire life, from memories to knowledge to your personality and everything in between. If the disc is intact, and usually this is never the case, then a User can rewrite the Program's basic codes to provide them with a new shell. The disc is then plugged into the new body, and takes it from there. Filling this new form with the essence of its previous master."

It all sounded rather fascinating, yet insane. "A clone then," Sam said, "and if you only have a portion of the disc...?"

"Then only what information that portion holds will be applied to the new Program. Essentially, only a rebirth in a sense." Kernel held out a hand, pointed to the far east. "Your father created Clu using portions of his own converted data. It's a very tricky and dangerous process, but it can be done. Out there, on the outskirts of the Outlands and sea of simulation is where Flynn wrote Clu. Though it has no name, it has been dubbed Genesis, a site of immense power where Flynn could safely do his work." Kernel chuckled. "I was said to be written in Genesis due to the combination of two Users' coding, though it was Flynn who gave me form."

The words had started to blur. Sam could hear and understand the Program, but only parts of what he was saying registered. An intact disc and a User could rewrite a Program derezzed, thought to be completely annihilated.

"So you see, Ram was not rerezzed."

All it took was an intact disc and a User.

"A copy of the original reinstalled into the Grid."

Sam wrapped shaky fingers around the memory stick.

"Are you all right?"

Sam's wide eyes snapped to Kernel's. He felt scared but excited, suddenly lightheaded. "Kernel," he swallowed, "my disc - does it start recording my ideas, my experience, everything about me the moment the connection is made?"

Kernel blinked. "Well, yes."

"Does it record _only_ what happens _after_ its been plugged in?"

"In the beginning, yes," Kernel replied. "Over time, as it accumulates more information, it will also collect older data. Memories you had before the disc, for example, will slowly join the database. It will essentially make duplicate copies to save in its memories."

"So if you are connected to your disc long enough, it will eventually transfer everything about you, all you've 'recorded', into its own memory?"

"Yes."

Sam's heart skipped a beat. He ripped the memory stick off his necklace, held it to the giant Program. "My father was here for over twenty years my time. Which is... God knows how long in cyberspace. He aged twenty years in a world where he spent hundreds, maybe thousands; a biological clock still connected to reality, I guess. But still, then, is it possible that everything he ever was, eventually was recorded onto this disc until the very moment he died?"

Kernel stared at the memory stick before taking it in his large fingers. The light winked at him. "... This is the converted form of your father's Identity Disc?" he inquired.

"Yes," Sam replied, "could it still..."

"You know what you're proposing, right?" Kernel demanded. The User flinched. "You want to rerezz your father. A User. A human being."

Sam frowned. "If it's not possible..."

"It may be."

Eyes flew back up to meet Kernel's. "It's never been attempted before," he mumbled, eying the stick, "and the attempt could be disastrous..."

"But it's not impossible," Sam pressed. He took the stick back.

Kernel straightened up, hands back behind him. "It seems I've planted a seed in your head, as Flynn would say," he sighed, "and I take it, even if I ordered you not to, you will still try?"

Sam grinned widely. The adrenaline was crashing through him in tsunami waves. "If I can bring my dad back," he said, almost breathless, "then no way in Hell could you ever stop me."

"The consequences could be tragic."

"Possibly."

"You could die."

"Possibly."

"You may obliterate Genesis, even."

"Possibly."

"And yet you still want to try and bring your father back?"

Sam laughed. "Well," he said, "I guess I'm just as much a stubborn ass as he was."

The giant Program groaned. "User help us all."

* * *

IIII

* * *

The skies had cleared to their usual pitch black, the storm passing for now.

It had been days since he crawled from the ocean, wandering aimlessly through lands unclaimed and abandoned. The fight to stay alive won over the damage he had taken. Rinzler could feel his entire being shift and transform, as if something inside of him tried to crawl free of its cage. There were moments when he blacked out, woke to find he had been walking without any recollection.

The farther he had drifted away from the sea, the more complex the damage became. Soon, it was hard even running basic functions. Something always collided, firewalls raising and... pushing him back. Rinzler almost felt as if his body was turning on him, and there were times when he moved without his permission.

What started as an itch moved into a full blown ache. It became bad enough that he had to fight with himself, against an enemy unknown. Had anyone been around, they would have suspected he was malfunctioning. It was best Rinzler was in the emptiness, otherwise anyone or any living thing that approached him during his time of struggle would find themselves derezzed in a second flat.

Rinzler's circuits throbbed, an ugly hue of yellow with pulsating veins of white-blue. They'd wink in and out in frantic, electric heartbeats. His head felt like it was being bashed repeatedly into the ground, limbs feeling like stone one moment then light as air the next. Rinzler tore at his helmet, wanted to throw it off, but no, no, he couldn't do that, Clu said _never_ to remove the helmet, but Clu was dead and Clu was _wrong_ and no, no, Clu was _never_ wrong...

Fingers tore at his suit, ripping small bits of code from his arms and chest in jagged streaks. His discs, he was amazed he hadn't destroyed. Whatever was happening to him would kill him soon if he didn't figure out how to make it stop.

A hand reached over his shoulder, but before he could remove the combined disc from his plug, the low, distant hum of machinery caught his attention. Gaze skyward, Rinzler could barely make out a shape in the clouds. He recognized the brilliant blue however; Rebel ship, then. It seemed to have survived the worst of the storm, amazingly enough, without any damage whatsoever.

The ship was slowly descending smoothly, Rinzler following its path. Imagination, he thought at first, maybe the workings of his scattered coding, but the Program quickly climbed a hill to double check just in case. What he thought he saw, however, was indeed real. The ship was heading toward a small, abandoned I/O tower, just some miles away.

Rinzler had lost his baton, no lightcycle available. Yet even as ill and injured as he was, he could still run. Ignoring the pain, the Program took off in the direction of the ship and toward the old towers.

* * *

T/B/C

**A/N**:

Did some tweaking with time units again. In _Tron 2.0_, the term microcycle was used in what I believe was the context of day. So I'm using that more than the 'mega' as before. Metacycle I took from the _Transformers_ fandom which, here, means a month. As it currently stands, a cycle is year, metacycle month, microcycle day, kilo minutes and nano/seconds as, well, seconds.

Speaking of Tron 2.0, I-No is also a character that hails from the series. The two DJs in their special cameo are Daft Punk, who I believed left the club after the giant fight and were not caught in the explosion.

Z-Lot is basically a virus used in the above game that turns Programs into mindless zombies. It's been altered here, obviously. Edward can control any Z-Lot he holds, from morphing its coding to changing its shape, while other Z-Lot not in his possession remain the same. Hope that makes sense.

The two Sirens mentioned in this chapter are based on Yaya DaCosta and Serinda Swan's characters. Since they are currently nameless, I gave them names suiting constellations, as I read up Castor and Gem get their names derived from such. Yaya is Columba, which is the constellation and Latin word for "dove", while Serinda is named Cygnus, the constellation and Latin word for "swan". Oho, see what I did there. Anyway, the fourth Siren, Grus, is Elizabeth Mathis's. Grus is the constellation and Latin word for "crane".

The character of Max is actually not entirely an OC, but based on a character unrelated to the _Tron_ series. For anyone familiar with the short lived TV series, _Max Headroom_, this Max is based on/inspired by the titular character, who is also a digital being. It was just a little nod to my good friend, who watches the show with me.

Also, I did a little more research and found Light Fighters (ships) are the same as Light Jets, the latter which can only hold three. So consider in this fanon, Light Fighters are giant ships, whereas Light Jets are, well, the jets.

In reply to **Kent Rigel**: that is an interesting theory! Flynn still seemed human to me, but the derezzing at the end definitely wasn't, er, human. I hope they'll go into this concept more next movie or what-have-you. I think the reason Flynn managed to age at a human pace was probably because his biological clock was still connected to the outside world? I dunno, Legacy's plot had some rather big holes, hahaha.


	5. Chapter 4

Bit late again. I maaaay be slow releasing the next chapter as well, since I'm currently up to my ears in fics for friends, kinkmeme, requests and charity winners. In any case, there was going to be more to this chapter, but I felt adding more would only make it cluttered or move too fast. There was also supposed to be a more extensive fight scene, but there'll be plenty of those in future chapters. To me, it's pretty short, but people say my short chapters are actually long, haha. Wrote this a bit fatigued, so please pardon errors or any 'meh' content. And of course, thanks always for reading, reviewing and faving! I addressed some comments in reviews at the bottom as well.

**EDIT**: Thanks to concrit and evidence pointed out by sharinganavenger, I've edited and fixed a few things up. I also added some of their questions and my answers for people who were/are also curious!

* * *

**CHAPTER 4  
**

* * *

The small Light Fighter moved cautiously through the dormant storm clouds, riding and skidding along the winds instead of fighting them. It was imperative they stayed out of sight, even though it was nothing but desolation for miles. Occasionally they'd ride into a patch or bump of particularity bad weather, only to flicker the circuits of the plane and nothing more.

"I calculate at least another day or two."

Sam bridged his hands. "We'll need to get back to the portal before then," he stated. "Else this'll be a permanent 'vacation.'"

"You go, Sam," Quorra insisted. "I am sure Wisteria has noticed the opened portal and has placed sentries around the area." She looked to Mercury at the front of the ship, helping to pilot with Kernel. "Mercury and myself will escort you there and keep it safe until you return."

Jet loudly cleared his throat. The two looked to him, still clutching the Black Guard's rod. "Am I chopped liver or...?"

"'Chopped liver'?"

"You're to stay behind," Sam replied. "We can't risk all our lives, you know."

Jet snorted. "You think I won't be able to defend myself, you mean."

"Didn't say that."

"You know, we haven't spoken in years, Sam," the older boy stated, "but I'll have you know I did take taekwondo and judo classes for two years." He rose two fingers, face stern. "Black belt in each, thank you very much. And though I may be a bit rusty, I think I can hold up my own."

Sam chuckled. "Are you going to throw more TVs? Did they teach you that in judo?"

"Oh, come on. Stop holding that over my head. It worked, didn't it?" Jet shook the staff at them. "I even got myself a prize. Spoils of victory."

"You're really attached to that, you know."

Quorra interrupted the playful squabble. "It should take only a few seconds for you to reset the chronometer, correct?" She looked to Sam. "We may be there for only a few minutes to a half hour, then. We won't abandon post until you return or send us a signal."

Sam smiled. "I can count on you."

"And me," Jet scowled, hugged the rod and sat back, "because dammit, I am going."

"Well," Sam inhaled, "if everything goes as planned..." He looked down at the memory stick clutched in his hands. "... My father may be the one going in my place."

Quorra frowned. "Sam," she murmured, gently touched his arm, "if it doesn't work out..."

Kernel's thunderous voice interrupted the conversation. "We're just now entering Genesis's atmosphere," he called back and pointed out the window, "have a look."

The three gathered to their feet, squeezing into the front cabinet. The clouds broke aside just in time, revealing the massive expansive that was the largest program-user interface throughout the entire system. Its ground looked like glass, beautiful and shimmering despite the darkness around it. When the light of the ship caught its surface, it seemed to burn with life, a powerful glow of white and blue.

"Damn," Jet whistled.

With ease and precision, the Light Fighter landed smoothly five minutes later. Doors opening, the group slowly unloaded, and Sam and Jet both jumped slightly at the pools of white energy that appeared beneath each foot step. "Genesis recognizes you as Users," Mercury stated.

Quorra watched as Jet pressed foot down, back up, down, repeating the process as light appeared and disappeared with each rise and fall. The ISO smirked. "You having fun there, Jet?"

Jet frowned. "Eh, sorry..."

Sam approached Kernel, the giant Program surveying the area with narrowed eyes. "So," he mumbled, hand around the memory stick, "where do we start?"

Kernel looked to the User. "Anywhere you'd like," he said. He stepped back, pointing to the rows of panels like slides of glass. "These panels are windows that directly tie user-program interface."

Sam studied the ground. "Well..." He wasn't exactly sure how to go about this. He squatted, trying to remember every detail of Clu's birth that Kevin had told him during one stormy night. The User tugged off his glove, though he wasn't quite sure why, lowering hand to hover over the glass-like Earth. He could feel heat, the glow rising, anticipating his touch.

Sam planted his hand firmly onto the ground, over the panel before him. He jumped, just slightly, as the panel shifted and opened, revealing a mirror-esque screen. Jet, Quorra and Mercury joined his side. "What do I do next?" Sam asked, grazed hand over the screen. His touch sent it aglow, veins of coding briefly flashing before dimming as his hand swept away.

"Insert the memory disc."

Sam took the stick back in his hands, turned it in his fingers. The blue light was winking at him. He was scared, almost too scared to go through with this... If he couldn't revive his father, he could possibly destroy all his data, his memories. Even then, would programming pick and choose which personality traits to keep? Would there be a second Clu emerging in his father's place?

Quorra slid a hand over his shoulder, gave it a gentle, calming squeeze. "Sam," she murmured, "you don't have to do this, you know."

"I know," Sam replied. He licked his cracked lips, eyes still on the memory stick.

"Do not back down now, User," Kernel snapped. "Your chances are fifty/fifty. If you cannot revive your father, then you will continue your journey to find closure. You have something to gain, but nothing to lose."

Sam wanted to tell the security Program he was completely wrong. If the memory stick was destroyed, that was it. Though if Genesis couldn't even bring his father back, what could? Maybe over time, history would develop something better, something surefire and reliable, and then he could... He could...

Over twenty years, over half his life, Sam had waited and wondered. The grip on the stick tightened. Taking risks ran in his blood, and he wasn't going to stay idle, not again. Sam yanked the stick off the chain, hand against the glass panel as it purred with life. "I guess you're right," he muttered, voice determined but low.

The group held their breath as Sam withdrew his hand, leaving behind a single slot. He looked at the memory stick, placed it to his bowed forehead and closed his eyes. _For you, dad. For both of us._ Inhaling deeply, the User pushed the memory stick into the slot, and instantly the interface panel burned with life.

They watched in awe as the slot closed, venous light streaking along the surface, increasing amount within seconds. "This is normal, right?" Jet asked, looked to Kernel. The ground suddenly gave a loud growl and shifted, nearly sending the group crashing into one another.

At the faint crackling noise, Sam peered down, eyes wide. Between his feet, the ground was cracking open in a zigzag motion, and Genesis began to shake. "This can't be normal," Sam whispered in response.

"It may be an information overload," Mercury suggested as the thundering grew louder.

Kernel quickly threw his hands forward, grabbing Quorra and Jet each by an arm. He yanked them back just as the ground tore open beneath their feet, birthing rays of light. "Its attempt to duplicate User coding might be the reason!" he shouted and glared at Sam. "If this keeps up, we might have to shut it down!"

Another roar ran through the valley, dark storm clouds attracted to the sudden chaos. From a short distance, Sam watched as a chunk of ground rose, shifted and broke apart the area around it into crags. Winds rolled forward, fanning through the near blinding light, and it was becoming difficult to keep balance.

"We can't just leave!" Mercury cried, her voice faint in the howling gale. She huddled near Kernel, the only one who was managing to stay upright.

"We knew this was a possibility!" Kernel shouted back, making sure Sam heard. The User was still standing weakly before the panel white hot and glowing. "Genesis can't take the power! It's too much!"

"Do we remove the memory stick or-or-?"

"No!" Sam snapped back. He turned, barely seeing his comrades over the wind in his face and rays of unearthly light. "I'm not leaving! There's a chance it's working, we don't know!"

"So are we just gonna stay here and hope we don't get swallowed up!" Jet exclaimed. He jumped aside as the ground rumbled and opened beside him.

Kernel growled. "If you insist on staying, User, so be it!" He pointed to the Light Fighter. "I will not risk the lives of four others in place of two!"

"We-We're leaving?" Mercury stuttered. "But-" As she stepped toward her commander, the ground broke beneath her weight, a crevice yawning wide open underneath her. She screamed, falling into the deep hole before managing to latch fingers into the sides.

Jet heard her cry first and rushed over. "Mercury!" He rubbed his eyes and looked down. He saw the female Program struggling to climb out before the ground jerked and tipped, sending him on his rear and sliding down. Quorra reached for him, but was too late; the User went slipping down the slope, approaching the massive hole.

"Shitshitshit!" Jet could see the edge approaching. It was half-hearted thinking in the end, but the User quickly stabbed the end of his rod into the ground. It went through with ease, and Jet was shocked to see how it suddenly turned a violet blue and- He grunted, now hanging from the staff, feet dangling over the edge.

"Mercury!" he shouted. "Mercury, can you grab my foot!" He looked down; she was close enough, but one slip up...

The female Program winced. "I'll-I'll try!" Biting hard into her bottom lip, she relinquished one hold. Mercury gasped at the loss of leverage, but quickly snagged Jet's ankle before she could fall. "I got you, I got you!"

"Good!" Jet laughed, squeezing onto the rod. "Now if uh someone could get us-!"

A moment later, two large hands reached down, taking Mercury by an arm and Jet by his back. The User clung to his staff, yanking it out as he was lifted from the ground and suddenly thrown on the rocking floor of the Light Fighter. He sat up, quickly, hair blown up in different directions, looking dazed and confused. The rod in his hand had stopped glowing, but it had changed. It was different now, longer, a bit heavier and came equipped with what appeared as an electric prod on the end.

"Are you okay, Jet!" Mercury asked, dropping to his side. She adjusted her helmet, looked to Kernel piloting the shaking plane. "Where's Quorra and Sam!"

Kernel snorted. "Can't get to them! Not like they'd come anyway!" And with the storm brewing, leaving may no longer be an option.

Sam gasped as he was knocked forward by a chunk of blown debris, sending him onto hands and knees before the panel. He saw nothing but light, red and feral and frightening. But there was a voice calling for him, and it carried on the wind in a whisper though he knew it was close.

Quorra stumbled about, turned in a circle. She could see nothing, not even the Light Fighter hovering nearby. "Sam!" she shouted, pushing bangs from her eyes. "Sam, can you hear me!" The ground continued to rock beneath her feet; she moved clumsily, struggling to find a pattern to follow, to estimate when the next surge-

Quorra grunted, ankle giving a slight twist as she flew back. Grabbing on rock that was once buried beneath the smooth surface, she slowly stood, winced at the pain. There was a soft throb in her foot; nothing serious under normal conditions. But working with a slight limp was like losing an appendage in this disaster.

The ISO clung to the rock, cupped the side of her mouth. "Sam!" she shouted. She called again, again and again and again. No response but the roaring wind and groaning earth. With a small curse, she ventured forward, focusing pain away from her sore ankle. The ISO didn't get far, however, when suddenly a pair of hands took her tightly by the forearms.

Quorra gasped then sighed with relief. "Sam, are you-"

Just a little longer, Sam needed just a few more minutes. He believed-wanted to believe-Genesis wasn't destroying itself, wasn't falling apart. It was putting his father back together again, even if it mean its own destruction. He knelt there, the world around him having drowned out long ago. The others were safe, he knew this, _he knew this_, Kernel wouldn't let them fall.

Sam's eyes reflected the orange and red light emitting from the panel. It looked like glass cracking slowly before explosion. Logically, he should move. Logically, he should leave. But his feet were cement, his knees tied to the floor and Sam let the wind whip pebbles in his face, let it beat down on his back, because he wasn't going to give in. Not now-

It was the muffled shriek that tore Sam from his daze and he quickly jerked half his body around, eying his surroundings. The cry- it was female. It was Quorra's scream. "Q-Quorra?" he whispered, throat dry. He looked around again, to each of his sides then forward, eyes widening. The lithe, black figure was cutting through the light and wind with speed and agility, making way toward him.

Sam slowly stood. "Quorra?" he mumbled. The figure was moving closer now. "Is that-"

When Sam saw the glitching orange 'T' on the figure's chest, he immediately reached back and yanked off his disc, just in time to crash it against Rinzler's. The Program's usual growl was louder now, disjointed and damaged. "Oh, good," Sam spat.

Rinzler swung back his disc, brought it forward to slice along Sam's. It only figured he'd use one disc for only so long. The Program produced two now, running at the User like a bat out of Hell. Sam fought to the best of his abilities, but the winds, the blinding light, he could barely see more than two feet in front of him. Rinzler worked easily with his surroundings, almost becoming one with the chaos.

Sam was forced to play defense, using his disc as a shield instead of a weapon. For the most part, he had managed to block the attacks, either using disc or dodging full body. But Rinzler kept coming, slicing away like a killing machine. Sam kept backing away, leading the Program away from the panel; he had to rely on pure dumb luck to survive. Eventually it ran out, and his leg slipped along small chunks of debris.

Sam gasped, throwing arms out as he fell back. Rinzler struck him along forearm, watched as blood gushed from the clean wound. The User hit the ground on his back, groaning with pain. His head spun but he had no time to recover; ignoring the blood trickling down his arm, Sam swayed back to his feet, stumbled away for room.

Rinzler, however, wasn't moving. Instead, the security Program was staring at the droplets of blood smoothed along the edges of his disc. Sam sucked in air but stood his ground, occasionally glancing around for someone, anyone. Suddenly, Rinzler gave a tormented cry, something between fury and anguish. Sam snapped his head up, shocked; the Program had dropped the tainted disc, both hands grabbing at his helmeted head. He pounded fists against the surface, screaming in a noise borderline inhuman.

It was the color of his minimal circuitry, however, that surprised Sam. Once they had been a flaring orange hue, but now-now they were a burning white and blue. Rinzler was saying something, maybe actually speaking for once, but Sam could not hear him. He didn't bother to stay and try in any case, darting into waves of light and back in the direction of the panel.

Half way into his escape, the distinct hiss stopped Sam in his tracks and he quickly whipped aside, letting the disc fly just past his throat. Had he been even a few seconds late in moving, he knew his head would have been at his feet. Sam ducked again as the disc returned like a boomerang, jerking eyes up to see Rinzler coming at him again, all black and orange once more.

Sam knew he should run, but... The risk was huge and not without consequence. Sam jumped up, intercepting the second disc's return to its master. Rinzler got a clear shot of his stomach, slicing open the uniform and across the skin. Sam cursed as he fell back and on his rear, one hand flying to his new wound. He looked down, checked quickly; blood, quite a bit.

Shit shit shit.

Sam yanked his head up as Rinzler approached. "I wouldn't do that if I were you!" he snarled. He held up Rinzler's second disc, and the Program halted. "You-you come any closer," he growled, "I'll-I'll break it in half."

Rinzler studied the User's face; the glare was sincere and dangerous. His threat was legitimate, and he took one step back. Sam sneered bitterly, winced as pain shot through his abdomen again. "T-Thatta boy," he chortled.

It happened again and Sam briefly forgot his pain as Rinzler suddenly jerked back with a howl. The Program's circuits were flickering between orange and blue, and he continued beating at his helmet, whipping back and forth with furious snarls.

Sam threw back his free hand, grunted as he dragged his body away. Slow but surely. He was near the panel, he could clearly see it just a few feet ahead. Rinzler crumpled to his knees, clawing into his helmet, his disc discarded at his side. Good, good; chewing his bottom lip raw as the pain throbbed in his stomach and arm, Sam kept a look between the panel and Program as he dragged himself closer.

_Keep applying pressure,_ Sam told himself, wet, sticky hand pressed hard to his stomach wound, _come on, man, come on. You've suffered worse. Come on, come on, we're so close-!_

The User screamed with pain as he rolled onto his knees, one hand still clutching his wound. The panel was close now, its brilliant light warm on his face. "Come on... dad..." he croaked. The ground gave another convulsion, hand slipping beneath him; Sam growled as he hit the ground, chin bouncing off the surface.

Sam pulled his bloodied hand free from under his stomach. "If I can't... make it..." he breathed, hand shaking as it lifted, "you... gotta." The blood was bright, trailing down his sleeve to curl around elbow and Sam gasped as another wave of pain overthrew him. His hand slapped forward, onto the panel.

Sam heard things. Vaguely. He remembered a time when he went bungee jumping off a bridge near home, over the ocean. The damn cord had snapped, his fall broken by the water. As he sunk into its depths, half-conscious, he could hear the fading screams of his friends from above. When he came to, miraculously alive with just a few broken bones, they were speaking to him again. His friends, the paramedics; Alan, grandma and grandpa, but their voices were all blurry and muffled like those he heard beneath the water's surface.

Now, it was just like then. The noises around him were drowning like he knew he should have as he fell deeper into the black waters, helpless but strangely alight. He could hear Genesis fall apart, the storm above and the vibrations below. There was the sound of water rushing, and Sam wondered if it was in his imagination or if Genesis was also flooding. He wasn't sure how he managed to roll onto his back, his eyes half-lidded, unfocused, consciousness slowly slipping from him like the blood along his arm and stomach.

Sam could hear faint footfalls growing louder as they closed in. He could see Rinzler glaring at him, really glaring at him despite the fact his helmet concealed everything. He could see his circuits were orange again; he could see he had both his discs. Sam could see one disc rise, ready to launch, ready to take his life before darkness did.

Funny how things had a way of turning out for Sam. Whenever he thought he was at a dead end, there was always a door, a small crack, a way out. He thought he lost his father once, but he hadn't. He lost him, for real, and that hurt more in one day than it did all those years. But he was here now because he _could_ have his father back.

Genesis was dying. Sam was sure, if he wasn't nearly completely out of it, he would survive these wounds. But with Rinzler about to bring down his death, it seemed only natural to close his eyes and accept fate. He remembered letting a chuckle slip loose; this was where he was saved, right? Instead of praying for help, lyrics from a Queen song played in his head. _Goodbye everybody, I've got to go; gotta leave you all behind and face the truth_- He remembered how his dad used to play this song, all the time, always sang so loud and off key. _Mama, ooo- come on, Sam, sing with me! You should know the lyrics by now! 'Anyway the wind blows'-_

"...back _down_!"

Sam's eyes snapped open in alarm. The pain greeted him with another jolt, a slap in the face that nearly sobered him. Quorra was standing over him, light disc and energy sword holding Rinzler back. "Q-Quorra...?" he whispered. _Is this the real life, is this just..._

"Sam," she growled, eyes on the corrupted Program, "are you okay?"

"Uhhm..."

"We need to get you back to the ship," Quorra stated. Rinzler paced in front of her, looking for any opening. "At this rate, Genesis is going to collapse in on itself. Kernel predicts within ten minutes." Her eyes briefly flickered down at the User, and though it was only an instant, Sam could see the regret in those soft baby blues clear as the sky outside this world. "... I'm sorry. We have no choice..."

Sam gulped. "Not... yet..."

The Light Fighter hummed as it appeared suddenly above their heads, and Jet and Mercury were offering their hands. "Someone come down here and get Sam!" the ISO ordered. "He's been injured badly!" She stepped aside, still keeping her attention focused on Rinzler. He was becoming agitated, discs blazing in his gloved hands.

Mercury hopped down, landing beside Sam. Her eyes widened at the sight of the blood pooling around his stomach, staining his ripped uniform. "Oh my User," she whispered, both fascinated and horrified. Shaking her head, she quickly slipped arms beneath Sam's, hefting him up.

Sam screeched with pain. "Can't go... yet!" he insisted, eyes screwing shut.

In that instant, Rinzler threw safety aside and rushed forward. Quorra waited until he was close enough, just about to slice his disc across her throat before lifting her sword and shouting, "Tron!"

The security Program recoiled with alarm. Mercury looked stunned, stopping what she was doing. "W-What?" she whispered.

"That's who Rinzler is. Really is," the ISO said firmly. Rinzler flinched. Quorra lowered her weapons. "Tron. Don't you remember?" Her voice softened, but it was loud like a bell in the rushing winds. "When you saw Kevin in the Fighter... He saw you, Tron, he saw past Clu's manipulation and reprogramming." Rinzler stumbled back as she stepped forward. "I know you're the one who managed to hold Clu off as we got to the portal. I know you remembered, Tron, I know you _helped_ us."

Rinzler growled, one hand tearing at his helmet. "This... Rinzler is _Tron_?" Mercury whispered, completely shocked.

Quorra nodded, kept her gaze forward. "Yes," she said, "he is. _You are Tron_." She held up her head. "You fight for the Users."

It was those words that sent Rinzler into another fit. He screamed, fell to the ground and began bashing his head against its surface. Quorra gasped, quickly turning to Mercury. "Get Sam in the-" Her eyes fell on the User's pale face, slightly blue lips parted, eyebrows slack. Fear sent her turning back, reaching for him; no, that heart beat, she couldn't lose it, couldn't lose him.

A distraction enough for Rinzler, the corrupted Program running at the ISO. Both Jet and Mercury screamed for her to look out as he was behind her in a second flat. She turned, eyes wide as he pounced and Sam remembered opening his eyes for only the briefest of moments to hear a loud gasp and then...

_This is the way the world ends, this is the way the world ends, this is the way the world ends; not with a bang but a whimper_. Sam read that once, somewhere, maybe in class or the library, high school most likely. And strangely enough, it felt true. Perhaps it was his mind shutting down from blood loss. Perhaps. But suddenly all the blinding light had settled into something soft and welcoming, and the winds were warm breezes and the ground was still and calm.

There was too much going on for Sam to take in. Rinzler was suddenly unconscious on the floor, and Mercury was pulling him into the Light Fighter. Jet was beaming like a ray of sunshine, giving thumbs up, telling him something. _You did it, you did it!_ He could see Quorra's face; she looked shocked, but... Happy. So happy she was on the verge of tears. _Don't cry_, Sam wanted to tell her, weakly holding out a hand, as if to caress her face. _You're so happy so why are you crying don't cry please I'm alive I'm okay I'll be okay right?_

A pair of hands slipped around his, still raised, dried with blood and shaking. Firm, strong, aged and Sam didn't need to open his eyes to recognize his father's touch.

"You did good, kid."

It was the last thing Sam heard before finally falling unconscious.

* * *

III

* * *

"Not good, milady."

Rome pushed the datapad across the table and to Wisteria. The female Program calmly took the 'pad, read it quick and thoroughly. Rome nervously huddled before the desk, looked to Malvir and two of his guards. He cracked a weak smile, prompting a small tilt of the bodyguard's helmeted head. "We've worked together before, haven't we?" Rome asked, pointing between them. "I mean, got a feeling I've known you from somewhere before."

"No," Malvir said, voice iron. The pudgy Program winced and mumbled an apology.

"So Genesis was nearly destroyed."

Rome looked back, Wisteria dropping the 'pad. "The report does not state the cause," she added.

"We-We believe it might have been," the smaller Program gulped, "User activity."

Wisteria squinted. "It could not have been fCon's people."

"I'm inclined to agree," Malvir added. "Flynn's portal is still open, though there have been no signs of anyone entering or exiting within the past microcycle. We've detected no activity from the sentries you've placed there."

The female Program rapped long fingernails on her florescent desk. "Increase sentries from ten to twenty," she ordered. Wisteria looked out the window, past Rome and the guards. "Whatever they were doing in Genesis does not bode well for us. The length of time between the portal's opening and closing draws thinner. Soon, they will need to return; at least by tomorrow."

Malvir asked, "Do you think it is the Son of Flynn?"

"His Creator was derezzed before his very eyes," Wisteria chortled. "Of course he would come back." She bridged her hands, eyebrows knitting. "But for revenge or something more..."

"Both?" Rome suggested.

Wisteria's eyes snapped to him; he winced and stepped back. "Perhaps," she said, calmly, "or maybe they've all ready gotten what they've come for." She pressed palms into desk, standing to her feet. "And if Genesis was involved, we certainly cannot allow them to leave without checking for ourselves."

* * *

T/B/C

**A/N**:

Genesis is an unofficial name, and the design was also tweaked from what was shown in the comic/movie. Queen lyrics came from "Bohemian Rhapsody" and "this is the way the world ends..." from T. S. Eliot's "The Hollow Men."

In reply to **Ronnie R15**: I think the reason Kevin had food was as a User, he could manipulate energy and whatnot to give it form and maybe taste? Though why a stuffed pig, I have no idea. Maybe he was trying to show off.

In reply to** Houndourflame**: When I look at the two, Abraxas's virus and the Z-Lot, they do seem very familiar. Maybe Evolution also took a bit from 2.0 as well, haha. They both seem to infect Programs like zombie slaves. In this story, the Z-Lot mostly just kills Programs instead of enslave them. Difference is, the Z-Lot carried by Wisteria's men can only kill Rebel Programs, while Edward can manipulate the Z-Lot in his control to kill all Programs.

Here are a few of **sharinganavenger**'s points/questions in the review and my answers!

Q: _Mildly confused on how Rinzler got to Genesis. Last I recall he was a few miles out from the I/O tower, running towards it. And given Kernel&Co had to fly to Genesis, which he previously referred to as far enough away from everything so as not to break the world if it went wrong... I doubt that's walking distance. I suppose he could've either acquired a baton and followed by lightjet or stowed away somehow. For most programs, I'd say the latter would be impossible, but I can totally see Tronzler clinging to the underside of the lightjet as it hurtles along at superspeeds._

A: This is explained next chapter, though clinging to the Light Fighter would be more badass, haha.

Q: _...Aaaand Tronzler. :D *shakes head* My one point of uncertainty is why Quorra recognized him as Tron but Sam didn't. Sam was the one to whom his father said (while looking at Rinzler, in perfectly audible environment) "Tron. He's alive." The only clue Quorra might've had would be the "Tron, what have you become" line-which was said relatively quietly in the midst of a lightjet battle. I'd generally think the only way she'd know Tron is Rinzler would be if Sam told her. And Sam fails to remember what his father told him, but does remember that Tron had two disks-which is something I doubt he was ever told, especially since Tron only used two disks for about thirty seconds in his existence to my knowledge..._

A: I had admittedly forgotten about Kevin's line to Sam, and as for Quorra knowing, it was indeed because of that scene in the Light Fighter. So I suppose she did hear him, or you perhaps Flynn mentioned it when exchanging discs? Open for interp, there. BUT, as I've said, totally forgot Flynn spoke to Sam, so - I suppose you can consider that Sam does know, but is concerned and focused more on the task at hand and making sure he lives long enough to see it through completion, instead of attempting to subdue Tronzler. As mentioned in my first notes above, there was going to be a pretty legit fight scene, but I figured Sam, again, is avoiding battle and also the elements are more against him than they are for Rinzler, who I consider much stronger and whatnot. Sam's line about the two discs was removed, of course, and replaced.

Q: Y_ay for Quorra, though. She doesn't get nearly enough badass moments in general. When Sam blacks out and then comes to to find her standing over him, holding off Rinzler... that's a win. Her later tactical use of words was impressive as well, if a bit surprising. Knowledge aside, as an ISO who lived through Clu's reign, I'd expect her to hate Rinzler much much more than she might distantly have admired Tron. Flynn's stories and reminiscing hold up pretty poorly to "this guy was killing my friends, family, and anyone who helped them". Still, it was an undeniably effective tactic-and it's perfectly possible that if it hadn't been for the need to take care of Sam, she would've stabbed Rinzler's face off the moment her words took him down._

A: Regarding Quorra's feelings about Rinzler... That I truly do not know. In her little speech, it was more tactical than pleading, like getting into his head. I think if she knows Rinzler was reprogrammed and brainwashed, she'd be more open to forgiving him. But again, no idea. Her main concern was keeping Sam alive and holding Rinzler back.


	6. Chapter 5

Ahaha, late again! This chapter was, again, suppose to be longer, but I decided to cut it down a bit.

* * *

**CHAPTER 5  
**

* * *

In the arena, two Programs circled one another, discs at their sides, glares searching out weaknesses in their opponents. The audience roared with anticipation, stomping, clapping, hollering like wild animals who craved blood. It felt like an eternity, the two Programs simply skirting around in circles and waiting for an opening. Then, in a flash of blue and white, they ran at one another, snarling battle cries and discs raised to action.

Edward watched the old fight clip on the giant screen, fascinated. The bloodlust, the cunning, the skill; to think a bunch of code could amount to such warriors was amazing. The fight continued, neither Program backing down and the audience was eating it up. Edward's lenses reflected the battle into doubles, eyes wide in awe and excitement.

"You seem to be enjoying yourself."

Edward smirked, gaze softening into something more aloof. Wisteria joined his side, hands behind her back. She stared at the screen, watched as one Program sliced open his opponent's arm, sending forth a gush of pixels. "This was the last recorded fight before the arrival of the son of Flynn," she explained. "Just before the User and Rinzler took the stage."

"Rinzler has been in many of these games," Edward replied. "Victorious each round, of course."

Wisteria smirked behind her mask. "Rinzler was our prized champion, Clu's most trusted ally," she said. Her eyes squinted. "It is a pity he is lost to us."

"Was he derezzed?"

Wisteria didn't answer, just stepped toward the screen. "I had hoped to start the Disc Wars again," she stated. A gloved hand reached up, touched the surface. Immediately the image fizzled out, replaced with the now current, empty arena, barren with dimmed lights. "While I have maintained order within city limits, the riots continue. And I feel in Clu's honor, their fate should be left to the games." Her eyes flicked to the User. "What is it you Users so fondly say? 'Survival of the fittest'?"

Edward chuckled. "That we do," he agreed and adjusted his glasses. "As for re-opening the games," he said, "I think that is a rather appropriate decision." He smiled. "I'd love to see a match live for myself."

"I am glad I meet your approval," the Program replied, sarcastically.

Edward just laughed. "Have you yourself ever participated?"

"No," she answered, "my duties required me elsewhere."

"Engineering," the User mumbled. He tilted his head slightly. "Tell me, then. Were you always Clu's chief engineer?" Wisteria glanced at him quickly. "Were you programmed as such, or was there a time before Clu's reign - "

"My prior history is of no concern. It's irrelevant," Wisteria interjected.

Edward quirked a brow. There was a defensive tone in her voice. And yet, he detected a hint of... confusion? "Of course," he agreed, the desire to push growing stronger, "but there's no harm in casual conversation off duty." He chuckled. "Unless the topic is too sensitive -"

The barrel of Wisteria's gun pressed against his throat, right over the jugular. He smiled calmly. "You may be a User," she growled, "but that does not mean I have to idolize or fear you." Her grin was almost clear behind the latex of her mask. "I wonder what your own Z-Lot would do," her finger fondled the trigger, "if it infected a User?"

There was a soft click, but Wisteria did not look down. She could feel the cold steel against her sternum. "I can only imagine the possibilities," Edward smirked, holding his own gun in place, "but I know most definitely what it would do to Programs. Even corrupted ones, with just a little tweaking."

They stood in silence, waiting for the other to make a move. It was not too unlike the old game they had just been watching. Except they knew, in the end, neither would strike. They needed one another - at least for now. That was clearly conveyed without words. However, before they could retract their guns -

The doors flew open, and in a matter of seconds, Edward was pinned onto the cold floor, an arm pressed hard against his throat with a disc spinning warm by his head. He wasn't afraid, however, chuckled at Malvir's helmeted face so close to his.

"Stand down, Malvir," Wisteria snapped, pointing side. He did not budge; the disc inched closer. Wisteria glowered. "I command -"

Seth's iron hand clamped behind Malvir's throat before the Program could react to his presence. With a grunt, he was yanked to his feet, held in place. "No can do, friend," Seth growled, "we need him alive."

"He was going to shoot Wisteria!"

"He would do no such thing," Wisteria said. It was not to defend the User, but to show she was confident in her security.

Edward climbed to his feet, pushed back on his glasses. "We were both caught in the heat of the moment," he smirked, "but we had no intention of harming the other."

Malvir hissed something before yanking himself free. The wing-esque circuits on his helmet flared as he looked between the two Users before taking his side with Wisteria. He moved almost flush against her, whispered harshly, "Nonetheless, you should not be alone with them. One is trouble enough. I implore you to at least notify me when you are to deal with the Users by yourself. You have assigned me as your personal bodyguard; I intend to do my job."

Wisteria looked down at the smaller Program. She touched his arm, almost tenderly, before squeezing it. "Your services are needed when _I_ require them," she scowled lowly. Her nails dug into the leather. "Don't you forget that."

Malvir said nothing, contemplated her words. He nodded once, curt and she let him go with a small shove. He sized his commander up, glanced back at the Users before retreating from the room, a slight stomp in his stride.

Seth watched him go, gave a snort when he disappeared down the corridor. He looked back to Edward. "Eva has requested your presence back at fCon."

Edward nodded. As the Users headed for the door, he stopped, made way over to Wisteria. "You draw quick," he said. Her brows knitted. "You're catching on fast."

It was a compliment, she supposed. But she could hardly take it as more than subtle mocking.

* * *

III

* * *

The entire city of Divide was hushed into awed silence.

Only a few had actually seen Kernel and his crew return. With them in tow, the Creator himself, alive and functioning. They were quickly chased off, though some caught glances of what appeared to be an unknown, unconscious Program. Everyone came back in one piece, all except for the Creator's son. Sam was carried by the giant Program leader, covered in a blanket, Kevin and Quorra flanking his sides to keep him further shielded from curious, prying eyes.

They disappeared into a room on the highest floor. Kernel emerged ten minutes later with Mercury, followed shortly by Jet. However, the others remained in the room and Quorra was left to guard the doors from any curious onlookers trying to get a peek.

Kernel turned to Mercury and Jet. "I must address the others and inform them of the situation," he explained, "but keep details of Flynn's return quiet. Everything else will be left up to me."

Jet blinked. "Then why did you call me here?" he asked. He really thought he should be with his friend.

"You're needed elsewhere, remember?" Kernel replied. "You are assigned the task of resetting the portal."

"But - "

"Is it not what you whined for earlier? A User is best suited for such a feat as this, you know," the large Program scowled, getting face to face. Jet frowned, knowing he had been caught. "Quorra will stay behind. You will return to your world and reset the portal so it remains open for a few more micro-cycles." He gestured to Mercury. "Mercury and a small party will escort you to the tower and cover the area while you are away."

Jet bit his bottom lip. He looked back at the closed door, where his friend, weak and unconscious, rested. And Kevin, a man he had not seen in over twenty years... He glared back at Kernel, smile determined. "All right then," he said, inhaling, "I'm your User."

Kernel stood straight, nodded. "I will gather your crew," he stated before departing.

Jet exhaled loudly as soon as he was gone. "I just hope this won't be _too_ complicated for me to figure out," he mumbled. Not that any computer system in the past had been hard to crack. He was a genius in his field, much like his parents; but still he had his doubts.

Mercury beamed and clamped his shoulder. "Don't worry," she purred and winked, "we've got your back if you mess up."

The User laughed. "I'm afraid I don't have room to slip up."

After Kernel gave a rather vague but convincing debriefing of the previous events, he assigned ten security Programs to Jet outside. They were some of the strongest Divide had to offer, and that was good. "You are to follow your commander's orders," Kernel barked over the crowd, "keep the area secure and portal safe. The time difference varies tremendously between our worlds. What may take the User only a few kilos will translate to meta-cycles on the Grid. Be prepared at all times; do not let your guard down."

Kernel glanced back at Jet. "Should anything happen to your commander," and the User frowned, "you are to follow Mercury's lead and return to base. Is this understood?"

"Yes, sir!" the soldiers snapped back in perfect unison.

Kernel stepped aside, gestured Jet forward. "They are yours now, User," he said, "bring them home safe."

Jet swallowed but nodded. The giant Program returned inside, leaving Jet to approach his staring, eager men. "I can't say anything that hasn't been said," he stated, "Kernel covered it all pretty well. I will try to work as fast as I can, but I cannot guarantee a set time." He sucked in air. "While I am gone, follow Mercury's orders."

"Yes, sir!"

Jet smiled. Well, this was nice. Above, the Light Fighter rumbled, Mercury slowly landing the aircraft behind them. "Load 'em up!" Jet shouted, pointing to the Fighter. The crew gave a bellow and rushed forward, piling inside the small plane.

As Jet went to follow, a hand suddenly took his shoulder. He turned, regarding the old Tower Guardian with wide eyes. "So you are returning to your guardian-less tower, are you?" I-No chuckled. He tsked softly, giving his head a shake. "You know, if you had one, this portal business wouldn't be so ridiculously complicated."

The User cracked a weak grin. "Well, I guess Kevin didn't think it'd get this bad."

I-No nodded sagely. "Perhaps, though, I can provide some service?" Jet watched as the old Program removed a small disc from his robe, handing it to the User. "An old acquaintance of mine. I think you will find them to be quite... handy." His eyes twinkled.

Jet wasn't sure what he was implying, but then Mercury had her head and arm stuck out the Fighter window, shouting at him to board. Jet took the disc anyway, tucked it under one arm. "Thanks," he said, in any case.

I-No smiled. "May the blessings of the Users guide and protect you on your voyage." He reached out, one wrinkled hand pressed against the boy's chest.

Jet just laughed and went on his way.

* * *

III

* * *

"It's been almost a day on the Grid, and yet here, barely over an hour or so."

Edward said nothing as he entered the conference room. "Is it not fascinating?" Eva pressed for a response, anything.

"Oh, yes," Edward mumbled back. He took a seat, removing his glasses for a quick clean. Eva looked to Esmond, who shrugged and they both sat as well. "As such, we cannot risk staying away from the Grid for longer than ten minutes. There must be one of us there at all times."

"Agreed," Eva replied. "Did you speak with Wisteria?"

"More or less."

Esmond sat forward, hands bridged. "And? Have you gained her trust?"

Edward chortled. "That is an impossible feat, even for me," he replied. He slipped his glasses back on, looked over the fCon employees. "But we've enough that we need not worry. She plans to reopen the games, which may serve as a proper distraction, though it is in her hope to follow in her predecessor's footsteps. Eliminating her enemies by pitting them against each other in gladiatorial games, only for the survivor to face another round, until no one is left standing."

"It's a waste of time and energy," Eva sneered, "we could easily wipe them out in a matter of minutes with the Z-Lot."

"The Rebels are scattered, most in hiding," Edward stated, "as such, we need to smoke them out. The games may help to bring some out of the woodwork. At least it would help to clean up some of the useless garbage. But this is not enough." His eyes fell on Esmond. "Which is why we must rely on the DataWraiths on this matter."

Esmond beamed. "My turn, huh?" he chortled. He pushed over a folder, Edward quickly sifting through the reports. "We've had subjects one through ten as well as twelve and eighteen scanning the sectors. They are currently working through and outside TRON City to locate any Rebel bases."

"Results seem fair," Edward mumbled.

"We believe we've located at least two of the Rebel's headquarters," Esmond continued, "one in sector five of TRON City itself, and another we believe beyond the Outlands." He pointed to the papers in Edward's hands. "As you can see, subject seven reported a Light Fighter barely off radar flying out toward the Outlands. He tracked it for at least six miles before weather conditions forced him to turn around."

Edward traced the lines along the map. "It seems the trail is making a beeline eastward bound," he said, "if we continue tracing it, we may find the nest." He sat the folder down. "Though they may be taking different routes in an attempt to throw off any pursuers."

Eva wagged a finger. "Esmond, regarding the base found in TRON City," she said, squinting, "if we can flood them out and offer them to Wisteria as game participants, do you think we would be able to gain more of her trust?"

Esmond went to answer, opened his mouth - "Wisteria's trust cannot be won, nor earned," Edward stated. He folded his arms over his chest, leaned back. "It's simply impossible." Eva's determination deflated. "But," Edward continued, and she perked her brows, "you've no reason to be concerned should she turn on us. It's inevitable; to believe otherwise is foolish."

"The Z-Lot was programmed only to kill Rebel or uncorrupted Programs," Esmond reminded.

Edward resisted the urge to tell him otherwise. There was no trusting anyone, not with so much power at stake. It was none of their business, not now at least, to know the truth behind his own personal brew. "There is another way, and should the situation arise, I will be quick to inform you of my plan," he explained.

Eva snorted. "It does not matter," she said, "as long as she continues to stay out of our way until the end."

"And once we've handled the Rebel forces," Edward continued, "the system purge can begin, and not even Wisteria's forces will stand the chance of survival."

* * *

III

* * *

Jet twirled the staff in his hand, watched it spin and eyed it closely. He turned it around, rolled it back and forth. Mercury looked up from the controls; he was staring intensely at the weapon, and she only now noticed it had seemed to change. "What happened to it?" she asked.

Jet nearly dropped the staff in surprise. She giggled, eyes forward. "I'm not sure," Jet mumbled, looking back to the staff. "When I struck it into Genesis for leverage, it just... evolved." He poked the forked tips. "I dunno if it's changed more than physically. It looks kind of like some fancy cattle prod."

Mercury didn't understand the comparison, but smiled anyway. "Well, you're going to get to test it out soon," she informed. "It could be your powers as a User combined with Genesis morphed or upgraded it." She shrugged. "It might have become something more suitable for you to work with. Maybe something fitting your personality."

The User hummed. "Maybe..."

"It's the first of its kind, if you ask me," Mercury added. As the Fighter flew through a rough patch, the rod stumbled in Jet's hands. Gripping tight, the staff lit up in a streak of blue lightning before sparks of electricity danced off the prongs. Mercury widened her eyes. "Now I'm _convinced_."

Jet slowly loosened his grip, and the sparks died down with the light. But giving it another tight clench, they each returned. "I think, the more pressure applied..." He squeezed it until his hands hurt, and electricity bolted from the tip and struck the ceiling. The Fighter's warning siren went off, howling as the lights flickered. Jet gasped as Mercury struggled to keep course. In the back, the soldiers looked around with confusion, some jumping to their feet, fearing an ambush.

"Shit shit shit!" Jet cursed, hand flinging against the wall. "Don't crash on - !" But a second later, the siren died and the Fighter once more stabilized itself. "... Well. That was convenient." He sighed heavily, slouching in his seat.

"We might have crashed, you know," Mercury snorted. She didn't sound angry; too relieved they hadn't. "Your User powers are quite unpredictable."

"Wait," Jet mumbled, blinked, "I did that? I mean, I know I did _that_, but I... fixed it, too?"

Mercury giggled. "You've much to learn, little Bit."

"Hey now..."

* * *

III

* * *

It's quiet. Not a single noise to be accounted for, to be heard within miles. An utterly dead silence that would unnerve even the strongest of man.

And yet, it was comforting. He had never felt more at ease. Long had he been living in a world of noise; violent, painful noises that flooded his head. Lost in a blur of these noises like a hurricane, unable to pinpoint the source of even one of them. Hands to his ears, he couldn't hear his screaming over the cries and snarls, the explosions and howls, couldn't hear his pleading for the sounds to just _STOP_.

But now, it was quiet. Not a single noise to be accounted for, to be heard within miles. An utterly dead silence that would unnerve even the strongest of man. All except him.

He did not question the reason or cause for the silence. Did not wonder what made the noise stop. He was just happy he was finally free. Never look a gift horse in the mouth, They would say. And he didn't. He sat there, on the warm surface of an abyss of white, and closed his eyes. For once in years, enjoying the silence like the embrace of an old friend.

And his mind was able to breathe again. He was able to think freely, without the hindrance of that nightmarish cluster of terrible noise. He was able to let his body relax, let the muscles unwind, let the tension drip slowly from his very core. It felt so good, like being reborn, like crawling from that black sea not long ago like a baptized man or the beginning of a great evolution.

_It's nice, isn't it?_

He nods. His throat still feels knotted, vocal cords all a mess. He hasn't used his voice in so long, at least not for long periods of time. But he nods, nonetheless, acknowledging the voice soft and gentle above him.

_You can stay here a little longer, if you'd like._

He'd like that, very much.

_Though I'm afraid at some point, you'll have to return home._

He knows that. It almost hurts.

_We need you. Again. We all need you._

He opens his eyes and turns them to the ivory, empty sky.

_It's not fair. Believe me, I get that. You've been through a lot. Hell, we all have. But, I'm afraid the war ain't over._ He doesn't ask what the voice means. Doesn't need to. _You'll know soon enough. But for now, just relax. You earn -_

"No," he finally speaks, standing quickly. That strong sense of duty overpowers his need to shut out the world a while longer. "If I am needed, I must return." The voice does not respond. "_Now_," he presses. "If the system is in trouble, it's my duty to see it is taken care of. That's why Flynn brought me here. To protect the Grid."

There's a smirk. Almost sad. _Even warriors need a cigarette break, you know._

He scowls. "I've not been a warrior in cycles. I've been." He looked at his hands, naked, covered in peripheral blue circuits. "A puppet. A villain."

_It wasn't your fault. You cannot be held responsible._

"That may be," he mumbled, brows furrowing, "but I've done harm, so much damage. I need to redeem myself. I need to... remove the last bit of Rinzler's existence from the system." That dark shadow, it looms somewhere, from the corners of the eye, in the crevices and along the gutters, ignored usually but there, always there.

The voice does not speak for another twenty seconds. He allows the silence. Somewhere, he can hear the soft rocking of the Sea of Simulation's waves.

_You're not entirely out of the woods yet._

He doesn't understand that idiom, but he manages to translate its meaning.

_You could afford more rest, y'know. You don't need to push yourself. Nobody will hold it against you if you stay._

"I can't," he says, darker, "I won't."

A chuckle. _Well, all right. If you're that determined to punch in your time card._

He chuckles. The language of Users would never stop confusing him. The walls he thought did not exist began to collapse. It didn't frighten him, even as the light cracked through the debris, bright and blinding. He waited, watching as this seemingly endless universe was just a small room falling apart and letting him go.

The voice is loud over the crumbling and destruction. Whatever nervousness he feels dissipates as it speaks in words comforting and familiar.

_Come on back, old friend._

* * *

III

* * *

The Light Fighter landed on the outskirts of the Outlands, hidden behind a cluster of jagged rock and boulders. Quietly, the soldiers unloaded, the lights of the Fighter dimming softly. The wind had picked up, pushed against their backs.

"Almost like it's guiding us," Mercury said, adjusting her spiked helmet.

"That's an inspiring notion," Jet chuckled. The group moved through the rocky terrain, around and over boulders. Finally, they settled and knelt to the ground near a small ravine. A few yards away, the edge of the city, FLYNN'S ARCADE barely peeking over the roof top of a smaller building. The portal remained open, a beacon of bright, untouchable light.

A Recognizer floated nearby, its orange lights flickering whenever it got too close to the ethereal light. Mercury tapped Jet's shoulder then pointed to one guard roaming by, looking around then disappearing behind the building. "Where there's one," she whispered, "there's at least a dozen others."

"That Recognizer doesn't bode well either," Jet mumbled. He turned toward the men hovering nearby. "Here's the plan," he said, all eyes on him. He frowned. "Okay, I just wanna get this out there. My only experience leading soldiers into battle is through World of Warcraft. Just so you know." A few blinked, all of them obviously confused. "In any case, we'll take this like recon. We'll split into groups, case the joint; once we've determined how many guards we're dealing with, meet back here."

Mercury nodded. "There are twelve of us," she said, "so... groups of two?"

"Sounds good to me," the User replied. "You know these men best. Partner up those who work well together. Yourself included."

Mercury blinked. "You don't want me to go with you?"

Jet shook his head. "It wouldn't be good if both commander and lieutenant were captured or killed," he explained.

"I don't mean to boast," the female Program said, voice sharp, "but I am the strongest Program in this outfit." No one seemed to complain or speak otherwise. "You're too valuable to lose. As such, you need the utmost protection. I believe I'm the most qualified to watch your back." Mercury gestured to her teammates. "They will do fine without me, should I not make it."

Jet chortled. "Now don't go overshadowing your friends."

"Mercury is your best bet," one Program stated. Two others nodded. "We agree with her."

Jet wondered if they really did agree, or if they were too scared to play bodyguard to the User. He sighed but nodded. "All right, then," he mumbled, holding up his staff, "let's buddy up."

* * *

After teams had been established, Jet and Mercury sent the groups out in waves. One team was assigned one cardinal direction. The two remaining, one consisting of Mercury and Jet, moved closer toward the heart of the base. It had been a nerve-wrecking task, making sure they remained absolutely invisible to the guards.

Mercury took lead, making sure the coast was clear before gesturing the User forward. They had spotted no guards yet, not until they moved within the general vicinity of the old arcade. Jet tugged the Program back, both squatting behind a dumpster in an alley just adjacent and across the street to the building. A guard walked by, bo stick resting on his shoulder; he continued onward, oblivious to the Rebels hiding just a mere six feet away.

Once the footfalls faded, Jet and Mercury peered over the dumpster. Four guards were stationed by the arcade doors, vigilant and firm in place. A few others walked past them, pacing. Everyone appeared to be on alert, save a couple, who just appeared bored.

Jet cursed internally. The arcade had once been missing almost all its walls and most of its roof when they arrived. But now the guards had replaced them, with thick walls of orange light ribbon. Breaking through them would be as easy as breaking through cement or steel. After ten minutes of observation, Mercury jotted down the regulars before they scampered back to their makeshift headquarters in the barrenlands.

The other teams returned one by one by the times assigned. Luckily, every head was accounted for. "Was anyone seen?" Jet demanded. The ten others shook their heads or assured him otherwise. He exhaled, relieved. "Good. Now, everyone share your reports."

It turned out there were at least two dozen guards patrolling the area. Most were stationed to the north, the amount increasing the closer to the arcade. "No surprise," Jet muttered. "We're outnumbered."

"We're going to have to come at them at every angle," Mercury explained, her fingers opening before closing together. "The confusion might separate some of the guards from the building."

Jet nodded. "Good idea," he agreed, turned to the soldiers. "Instead of two, I want four people to each group. That leaves us with three groups." He pointed left and right. "Come in from the East and the West. The third group, which will consist of Mercury, two others and myself, will come down from the North." He quickly etched his battle plan into the dirt, arrows closing in from each side and above to a small circle, their target, smack dab in the middle. "Make your way inward, until we meet at the arcade. There, your task is to guard the building; make sure nothing gets inside."

Agreements rippled quietly through the group. "Mercury will escort me inside the arcade," Jet continued. "If there are guards inside the arcade, we should be able to take them. If not, we'll call for backup. In the meantime, I will return to my world and Mercury will keep watch over the portal until I get back."

"How long do you believe you'll take?" one Program inquired.

"Hoping only a few minutes," Jet sighed. He ran his hand through his messied hair. "This means about... I'm not quite sure. I'd say, um, a meta-cycle?" Frowns appeared along faces, a few repressing the urge to groan.

Mercury wrinkled her nose. "We'll do fine," she scowled, glaring at the disappointed men beside her. "We will not stop fighting until you return."

Jet smiled crookedly. "Well, if there's no questions...?" He looked over the team. They answered by equipping their helmets and weapons, some standing and waiting impatiently. The User nodded and stood, the few others following his lead.

"Here's hope for victory," Jet sighed, raising his disc as he would a glass of champagne. Helmet flipping back on, the circuits burned on his suit and Jet broke the teams off.

* * *

III

* * *

It had been relatively quiet. Most of the area had long been abandoned, the guards its current sole inhabitants. They scouted timelessly through the area, around and back again, a seemingly never ending process. Though no one complained about the tedious monotony, knowing what Wisteria would do if word of their faltering caught wind. They remained alert and ever watchful, knowing that inevitably the User or Users would return. Time was running out for them; the portal would close at least by tomorrow.

Jet, Mercury and two others climbed a slate of rubble some yards behind the arcade. One of them dispatched, heading forward to scout the area while the others lingered behind. Jet glared at the Recognizer above, one eye squinting. "We'll need a little bit of confusion to make the perfect entrance," he mumbled.

Mercury looked back at him. "What do you suggest we do?"

The User snapped his fingers at the smaller Program behind him. "You got that grenade on you?" he asked. The Program nodded weakly. "Let me have it."

"B-But," he stuttered, touching the grenade on his belt, "this is the only one we have. The last from Divide's weaponry, in fact."

Mercury touched the Program's arm. "Don't worry," she assured, "I think Jet knows what he's doing."

"I'm a User, you can trust me," Jet laughed softly. The Program swallowed before reluctantly handing the disc shaped grenade over. Jet made a pleased little hum, examining the bomb. "User powers can manipulate any object on the Grid, right?"

"It would appear that way."

Jet sneered. "Then let's give this a try..." He stood, quickly scampering down the debris. The Programs lingered behind, watching on. Jet fiddled with the grenade a moment. The TRON video game came equipped with these weapons, though they were much more primitive compared to this. Still, as the grenade lit up in his hands, he could recall those times as a kid, Sam and himself pitted against one another as they played the game. One move, Jet had one beautiful signature move, and Sam was always sure to lose.

"I don't care if you're not sentient, you know what I want, you understand what I need," he said to the grenade. It flashed and Jet smiled. "So don't fuck this up for me." He lowered his voice, playfully adding, "A lady is watching."

Jet turned back around, the disc grenade continuing to pulse light in his hand. He quickly activated the detonator, the smaller Program wincing. The User moved about along the hunk of debris, up and down, around and over, mumbling and muttering to himself. He looked completely engrossed in his task, eyes constantly looking between sky and ground.

"What are you doing, Jet?" Mercury finally asked two minutes later.

"This isn't fun and games," the second Program snapped.

"It's old games that I'm relying on to make this perfect," Jet smirked. Thirty seconds later, he finally stopped, looked at the grenade and then to the Recognizer.

The Programs finally understood what he was planning. "You got your coding scrambled!" the smaller Program yelped. Mercury hushed him. "You can't hope to hit the Recognizer this far away!"

"O ye of little faith," Jet chuckled. Though there was still a small nagging doubt in the back of his mind. He swallowed it down, one step forward and pressed to the cement. Taking a deep breath, Mercury watched on, her companion fretting as he dropped his face in his hands. Jet drew back his arm like the bow of an arrow, the blinking grenade closer to detonation.

Just like old times, just like the video games. Wait until Sam was closer, his tank moving in for the kill. Then, when close enough, his calculations went into action. Jet grunted as he twisted his torso back, unwinding and pitching the grenade into a high arch through the air. He held his breath as he watched it soar through the dark sky, nothing but flickering blue, closer and closer-

A second later, the disc grenade collided with the very heart of the Recognizer. The explosion was instantaneous, the Recognizer ripped clean apart before derezzing in shards of ugly orange and yellow. Below, guards were gasping and shouting; the remaining bits of the Recognizer fell to the ground, crashing into a cloud of hot smoke.

Jet pumped a fist. "Still got it!" he cheered, though his laughter was shaky.

"Awesome hit!" Mercury giggled, clapping. The smaller Program was torn between sulking with shame or passing out.

A second later, guards were shrieking around battle cries. The fourth member of their team popped out, gesturing them forward. "Party's started!" Jet declared.

Mercury yanked her companion to his feet, the two taking the lead. "Follow us!" she ordered, disc out and spinning. Jet nodded, rod back in hand.

The Programs headed out, Jet following from behind, not too close but straggling not too far. They moved quick through the empty street, the edges of smoke just barely reaching them. Closer toward the arcade, they saw their comrades fighting the guards in the cloud of smoke; so far, there appeared to be no causalities.

The trio made a beeline for the arcade doors. Guards who attempted to intervene were quickly thrown away by one of their comrades. Soon, a circle formed around the group, keeping anyone from getting too close. Jet kept his eyes on the prize - the arcade doors, just some feet away.

A guard shrieked as he jumped down from his hiding spot above. "Look out!" the smaller Program cried. He shoved Mercury and Jet back, the guard landing where they had been only a second ago. He swung his disc, missed; the guard was fast, sliced the Program clean in half with his disc. However, he hadn't long to bask in his kill, Mercury impaling him with her light katana. The corrupted Program gave one final cry before derezzing.

During the brief scuffle, two other guards jumped between Jet and the doors. "Dammit," the User cursed, swinging aside as a bo stick nearly struck his shoulder. Mercury whirled around, her own staff colliding with the guard's; the two drew back, struck again and soon locked into something akin to a sword fight. Each collision of their staffs resulted into a blast or spark of energy and light, neither managing to trump the other.

Jet was left with the second guard, advancing forward with his disc and light katana. Jet swallowed; why didn't he get one of those fancy light swords? The guard bounced forward, striking with disc first. Jet managed to dodge the first blow, went to stab his staff into the corrupted Program's belly. He grazed his side only, however, not enough to cause any serious damage; the guard's light blade crashed against its surface. There seemed to be an alarmed flicker of the man's circuits; the blade should have cut the inferior weapon in half.

"She's one of a kind," Jet chortled. He knocked his staff up, proceeding to shove the sword aside. Jumping forward, he ran the rod at him again, tearing across armor at his hip. The guard attempted to break the staff with his disc, but there was no such luck. Drawing the rod back, Jet slammed it against the disc, knocking it clean from the guard's hand. The guard went for his light katana, only for another strike to knock it free.

The corrupted Program was now unarmed. Jet sneered, swinging his rod left and right like a baseball bat. The guard dived and twisted, attempting to miss the blows, moving backward toward the locked arcade doors. Jet almost believed the stubborn Program would surrender; instead, the guard had not remotely given up. Calculating each swing and the User's speed, the guard found an opening and pounced.

Jet gave a strangled gasp, gloved hands tightening around his throat. He crashed to the floor, the guard continuing to throttle him. Mercury heard his small cry, quickly turning from battle. It gave her enemy room for a blow, fist connecting with her face and knocking her aside.

Jet attempted to tear the hands off. One hand freed itself, and the guard took the rod in the User's iron grip. Jet snarled, but a rather painful push against his Adam's apple startled him, loosening his grasp on the weapon. The guard turned it in his hand, released the User's throat then pressed the prongs of the rod against his chin.

Jet glowered. "You are _not_ gonna kill me with my own weapon!" he barked. He squeezed fingers around the staff, harder and harder. The circuits along its surface lit up, but the corrupted guard felt no fear. He was not on the receiving end of the blast. However, after one final squeeze, electricity shot up from the edge of the prongs and exploded at the opposite end, right next to the guard's head. The power was enough to immediately bash the Program's head in, until it was hollowed out like a bowl.

The User bucked, knocking the headless guard off him. Scrambling to his feet, he smiled at his staff, still glowing bright but tamed. Footfalls grew loud behind him, and Jet whirled around, rod pointed. Mercury gasped and stepped back, hands raised. Jet blinked before tittering, lowering the weapon. "Oops."

"We need to get you inside," Mercury said. She pushed the User to the doors, turning back to back. She looked over the battle scene; another Rebel was derezzed, knocking the party down to nine, Jet and herself included. But the guards seemed to have decreased in amount as well; it was no surprise, Mercury told herself, Kernel had sent some of his best.

Jet growled, breaking her concentration. "What is it?" she demanded, peering over her shoulder.

"I can manipulate coding and just about everything in this world," Jet cursed, yanking on the door's chains, "but fuck if I can't just break a few locks!" With another tug and grunt, he stepped back, bumping against Mercury. He placed the staff prongs to the lock and with a low snarl, sent an electric jolt into the chains. It was enough to snap a few of the links; Jet used the butt of his staff to smash the rest apart.

Mercury listened to the chains jingle as they slipped from the handles. "You got-" She cursed, a guard popping out from beside her. He grabbed the Rebel by an arm, yanked her back and away from the User. The guard went for Jet, snagged the front of his suit. Jet pushed and struggled; he slipped a hand beneath the corrupted Program's half helmet, forced it off and back. His glare was mindless, nothing but fury and obedience.

Mercury bounced back to her feet, grabbing a fistful of the Program's short brown hair. The guard gasped but held onto Jet, jerking him back. Jet grabbed his wrist, twisted until it was broken; the guard shrieked, tripping backward. Mercury held him up by the hair, placed her sword to his throat and slit it open, letting pixels gush forward in a gruesome parody of blood.

Jet swallowed, watching as Mercury stood and swept stray bits off her sword. "Damn," he laughed breathlessly, and she smiled.

With the others distracted or engaged in battle, Jet and Mercury quickly ran inside. Mercury shoved the doors closed, throwing whatever was nearby in a pile before them to serve as a barricade. Jet panted, looking around the old building; the interior was still ruined, debris and broken arcade games lying everywhere. His eyes spotted the basement entrance-

"You won't get very far without this."

Jet's eyes widened at the white disc in Mercury's hand. "This is Kevin's," she said quietly. "I was asked to hold onto it in case you..." She shook her head. "Without it, you cannot return to your world."

"I'm surprised he let you have it," Jet murmured.

"It's worth the risk. He doesn't want to stay trapped here a second time, you know," the Program chuckled, "so." She took the User's hand, gently slipped the disc into his fingers. "It's up to you to make sure he doesn't. That none of you do."

Jet swallowed. He looked over the ivory disc, unique from all the others. "B-Big responsibility," he tittered.

There came a pounding and slamming on the doors. The two whipped around, guards attempting to push through the barricade. "Go!" Mercury ordered, pulling the User toward the basement. Jet rushed around her, descending the stairs until he nearly crashed onto the dusty cement floor. The Program quickly threw the doors closed, locking them up. Using a pipe on the floor, she thread them through the handles; hopefully that would provide backup should the locks fail.

Jet ran to the computer, quickly taking a seat. He gasped when the old chair broke beneath him, angrily cursing. In any other situation, it would have been comical. "Now how do I-" But as he turned to the flatscreen, he found there was no hacking or tinkering needed. The screen still had the portal display opened, ready to re-activate upon command.

Mercury ran down the stairs. "What is it?" she asked, joining his side.

"It's takes just a simple key press to re-activate the portal," Jet exclaimed. "How do we know others haven't gone through the gate! That they're not waiting on the other side!"

Mercury shook her head. "Impossible," she said, pointed to the white disc in Jet's hand, "you need Kevin's disc to use the portal; only system's creator can access the program. You won't be transported home if - " She bit her tongue, crashing and smashing noises coming from within the building above. "Get going! You've no time to waste!"

"I hope this works," the User groaned, his fingers shaking. With a simple key stroke, the digitizer began to light up. A countdown started from ten, and Jet quickly huddled into the middle of the room. Where he had been standing right before digitization. Mercury stepped back and away, nervously staring at the doors.

Jet turned to Mercury, frowning. "Are you gonna be all right?" he asked.

"I'll be fine," the Program replied. She held up her disc and grinned. "Remember, I'm one of the best and elite of Kernel's Rebel forces."

Jet chuckled nervously. "Ah, yeah, but..." He paused, giving a small jump at the touch on his shoulder. The countdown hit seven.

Jet looked up, Mercury's hand on his shoulder; the smile on her face was soft, warm. "We won't leave you, Jet," she assured, squeezed, "_I_ won't leave you."

It seemed enough, her words. Confidence alone would not stop the guards, but for some reason, it was exactly the weapon she needed. Jet hesitantly reached up, touched her hand softly. The glow of the digitizer hid the soft purple hue in their circuits, and he grinned back. "BRB," he snorted and like that, the two separated, Jet facing the digitizer once more.

The countdown hit three. Jet produced the white disc, held it to the digitizter's barrel. He sucked in a deep breath, listened to the furious pounding on the doors above. Once the countdown reached zero, the light was blinding and Jet shut his eyes, tight until he saw stars.

A second later, Jet opened his eyes. He stared for a moment, recognizing his surroundings. The arcade basement, the digitizer. Except- Jet looked down; he was back in his slacks, t-shirt and jacket, and beside his feet, a pair of glasses. He fought the urge to rejoice upon returning home in one whole piece, instead swept the glasses from the floor and rushed to the computer.

"I don't even know why I need you," Jet scowled, shoving the glasses back on. The digitizer program was still open, asking for a command to shut down or activate the digitizer for a second time. "S'not asking for passwor..." Jet trailed off.

The discs were gone. His and Kevin's. It hit him quick before he could panic. The discs had returned to the system; the program was open for access because it read Kevin's disc, now data spread through the system. However, where his had gone... That didn't seem important. Jet went to reactivate the portal, hand reaching for the very same key that brought him back-

He stopped. His hand lingered above the key, hovered there. In the corner of the giant screen, there was a pop-up notice. An alert for a new program installation. Jet adjusted his glasses, read the program's name. "," he murmured, squinting.

Jet would have ignored the alert, would have deemed it unimportant given the situation. However, a program did not simply appear out of nowhere. Timing was too perfect.

Jet looked at the REACTIVATE button, back to the small pop-up window. "God, I hope I know what I'm doing," he grumbled, quickly opening the new program for installation.

* * *

III

* * *

Jet gasped, head snapping back.

With a grunt, he fell on his ass, the chair in the real world now broken. He sat up quickly, feeling himself over. He was back in his suit, black and streaked in blue circuits. Head jerking back and forth, he found he was inside the Grid's arcade and quickly jumped to his feet. "Mercury!" he shouted, running to the stairs. He paled a little; the doors had been busted open, and there was no sight of the security Program.

"Greetings, Kevin Flynn."

Jet shrieked and spun around. He reached for his disc, stopped suddenly. Standing by the computer was a tall Program. Every inch of the Program's body was covered in black, helmet hiding their face. The body was lithe, thin, but more built, leaving Jet unable to identify their gender.

"Who - who are you?" Jet demanded. He unplugged his disc - his very own. "Tell me."

"I am Vulcan," the Program replied. Jet twitched. The Program even sounded ambiguous, neither gender stronger than the other in its almost mechanical tone. "Kevin Flynn installed me to serve as the I/O tower's guardian."

So, Jet's suspicions had been correct. The program had come from the disc I-No gave him. "A Tower Guardian, huh?" he chuckled, lowering his weapon. "I-No said you'd come in handy."

Vulcan nodded. "Indeed." Ey held out Kevin's white disc. "I believe this belongs to you, Kevin Flynn."

Jet had nearly forgotten about the blasted thing. "Thanks," he mumbled, taking it. "But I'm not Kevin Flynn. I'm... Jethro Bradley. Jet."

Vulcan tilted hir head. "But it was Kevin Flynn who installed me."

"No, 'fraid not," Jet chuckled. "But in any case..." He looked square in the Program's hidden face, the front of their mask sporting a thin, horizontal blue line. "I-No, do you know I-No?"

The blue circuit lit up. "I-No," ey said, "yes, we were acquainted."

"He gave me your disc so I could install you," the User explained. He placed Kevin's disc in his plug, keeping hold of his own. "Said things would be a lot less..." He widened his eyes, looked back up. "Maybe _you_ may be the loophole we need."

"If I may ask what you are referring to?"

"As Tower Guardian, you have access to the system," Jet said, sounding unsure.

Vulcan nodded, putting him at ease. "I may have access, but I can only execute commands issued by my User and User alone," ey explained.

Jet nodded, licked his drying lips. "Then, say, if Kevin Flynn told you to open and reactivate the digitizer program," he paused, "you'd be able to do this?"

"Correct."

An overwhelming sense of relief flooded Jet. "Oh, God, thank God!" he tried not to cheer too loudly. "That means we can come and go without having to worry about the portal closing for good."

Vulcan reminded: "I can only open and close the portal if Kevin Flynn commands it so."

Jet swallowed. So without Kevin, there was no returning. Not unless they got back within the new limited days. "Well, Kevin'll be here soon," Jet assured. He crossed the room, eyes scanning the floor before finding the electric rod. It was a surprise they hadn't taken it; he supposed only he could access its powers anyway. Jet looked back to the Program. "I need you to stay here. Don't leave this spot." He pointed to the ground, Vulcan looking. "You're a Tower Guardian, so you protect this area."

"By default," Vulcan replied with a nod.

"Keep yourself safe," the User pressed. "I can't have you derezzing so-"

There came a rumbling from above, Jet's eyes flying to the roof. The two stood in silence, listening to the low grumble fade to silence. "... You stay here," he murmured. Once he got an affirmative nod, Jet left the basement.

* * *

Jet moved through the arcade slow and cautiously, rod burning in his hand. It appeared empty, one of the far walls of light broken in half. He skirted around the debris and rubble, toward the doors. Nothing outside, nothing but that persistent low humming. Swallowing, he carefully pushed one door open, head peeking outside.

With the coast as clear as the User could see, Jet moved onward. The rod turned in his hands like a baseball bat, teeth chewing at his bottom lip. The tension wound around his heart beating a thousand miles per hour with each tiny step forward. And as he made it out into the open, past the doors -

Jet gave a startled cry when a guard fell on top of him. He shoved him off before thwacking him against the shoulder, sending the corrupted Program flying into the street. Jet rushed forward, staff raised for another strike - All until he saw the guard was missing half his body. "Uh..."

"Welcome back, User-boy."

Jet spun around, choking on air. Mercury and another Program sat against the building. Mercury looked tired and weakened, her companion patching up a wound that expanded the length of her arm. "It took you long enough," she giggled softly.

"What happened!" Jet demanded. He knelt beside her, eyes scanning the area. It looked like a ghost town. "You all right?"

"She'll be fine," the second Program mumbled, fiddling with her damaged coding via disc.

"We're glad to see you made it back," Mercury said.

"And I'm glad you're alive, but," the User muttered, "where are the others?"

Mercury frowned. "Gone. Derezzed." Jet bowed his head. "Only Tera and myself have survived." She gestured to the busy Program.

"Did you call for backup?"

"We tried. Afraid we can't," Mercury sighed. "The portal seems to scramble any transmissions coming and going from or within the area."

Jet's fingers curled into fists. "If I hadn't taken so long..."

"Don't go blaming yourself," the female Program chuckled. She patted his shoulder. "Now that you're back, we can return to headquarters."

Jet studied her face. She was smiling, though she looked tired, wounded. In a way that was beyond physical. How long she and Tera had been fighting alone, Jet couldn't imagine. That and knowing some of her good friends and finest comrades were killed before her very eyes... He nodded and smiled weakly. "Yeah," he said, offering his hand, "let's get going."

With a bit more tweaking, Mercury's arm was back in working condition, though still in need of repair. "Before we go," Jet said, and the two Programs stopped. "You should know... I-No gave me a disc. It contained a Tower Guardian program."

"You... Did you install a Tower Guardian?"

"Yes," Jet replied, smiled. "Name's Vulcan. He - she... Well, with them around, we won't have to worry about the portal closing on us." He pointed to the disc hidden on his back, but the two got the idea. "Vulcan can access any program, but only through Kevin."

Mercury beamed. "So, then, the time constraints - "

The thunderous rumble returned again, directly in front of them. The three looked up, wide eyed. "What is that noise?" Jet asked, stepping forward. It was coming from over the buildings across the street.

"They're getting louder," Tera whispered. He looked sternly at the two. "We need to go. We can't wait any longer."

Jet looked at the Program. "Do you know where it's coming from?"

Mercury took him by the wrist. "Yes," she said, "and that's why we need to _run_."

The User hesitated. "I can't go, not yet!" he insisted. "I have to tell Vulcan-!"

The building across the street exploded, rubble and debris flying everywhere. Mercury screamed and the three immediately took off running. Jet looked back only once, eyes wide at the sight of the massive red and black tank driving over and through the ruins, its barrel billowing smoke and electricity.

Jet turned around, swatting the Programs on their backs. "Faster faster faster go go _go_!" he shouted.

The tank ripped through the rest of the debris, but did not stop. It turned, slowly, making its way down the road, gravel spitting out behind its wheels. Jet glanced back every few seconds, watching the tank made its way toward them. Why it did not fire, however, confused him.

It became clear when they were half way from the location of the Light Fighter. Moments later, a second tank emerged, pulling right in front of them. The three threw themselves back, Mercury grabbing Tera before he could fall over. They whipped around, searching for an exit. Behind them, the first tank; coming in from the east and west appeared to be Recognizer, flying at full speed.

"Shit!" Jet cursed. He huddled close to the Programs. "We could make a run for it. The tanks aren't fast enough." He nodded to the cluster of buildings beside them. "We'll get better coverage from Recognizer fire if we - "

Suddenly, both tank cannons were aimed at the group. "If we move, they'll fire," Tera whispered.

"We're gonna have to," Mercury murmured back. "We might be able to avoid the blasts if we're quick enough."

"We should split up," Jet suggested. The hatch door to the first tank opened, two guards crawling out with light staffs equipped. He spat, frustrated. "Or, well..."

As the two guards started their climb out the tank, one grunted, mechanically catching something that fell seemingly from the sky. Blinking, he and his comrade looked to his hands. It was disc shaped, thicker than an ID, however; turning it over, the grenade gave two last blinks before exploding, taking both Programs and the tank with it.

The group scrambled, didn't wait to see what had happened, making way toward the buildings. The sound of an explosion above caught Mercury's attention; gaze skyward, she watched as a Light Fighter tore around one of the Recognizers, forcing it back and away. A big smile crossed her face. "They've come!" she squealed.

The second tank rumbled forward, intent on following the fleeing trio. Suddenly, a whip of blue light coiled around the cannon, forcing the vehicle to a halt. There came a soft jerk from the light cable before everything settled. Not for long, however; the guards inside looked up at the hatch door as it gave a loud _THUD_, weight dropped on top of it. They gathered their weapons as the door began to open, twisting slowly.

The three gathered below and around the hatch door. One with light katana equipped, others staff and discs. They waited, ready for anything, as the door continued to spin open. A guard twitched when the hatch door cracked, lifted an inch; anxiety swelled, and they moved in closer.

The door flew off its hinges, letting in a burst of light. A second later, at speed almost too quick to catch, a shadow of black jumped inside the tank and the men rushed forward.

Jet came to a sudden halt when he heard the frightened, shocked cries. He turned, Tera and Mercury watching as he moved back toward the battle scene. "What are you doing?" Tera demanded. "You wanna get yourself derezzed!"

The User didn't know why he was going back. Nor did he know why Mercury was suddenly following him. Tera stamped his foot and cursed but eventually followed as well. The three, lead by Jet, moved toward the edge of the alley, looking out into the street. The second tank was still, quiet, its red lights dying.

"What are they doing?" Jet whispered.

Mercury pointed to the bound cannon, still wrapped in the light cable. "Better yet, what's that doing there?"

Suddenly, a long, black arm shot out from the hatch door. They stepped back in perfect unison, but did not retreat. The arm groped for leverage before the dark figure in black slowly emerged -

"You there!"

Heads whipped around to address the four guards at the opposite end of the alley. Their leader pointed at them. "Stay where you are!" he ordered through a snarl.

Jet blinked. "... Go."

The three bolted out into the street, the guards chasing. "Let's get to the Fighter!" Mercury cried. Tera squeaked when a disc flew over his head, barely missing his scalp. He drew on his helmet, kicking up dust as he ran past the two in a panic.

The guards started throwing their discs after their commander. "Over here!" Jet cried. He leaped behind the tank, Mercury quick to follow. Tera just kept running to safety, disappearing in the fog. The two darted around the tank, listening as discs pelted it. "Run like the devil," the User panted, taking a deep breath.

"The wha-?"

Jet jumped to his feet, Mercury quickly following him. They ran as fast as their tired legs could carry them, but the guards were drawing closer, their discs in hands. "Destroy them!" their commander ordered, throwing his disc. The two looked back and gasped, each shoving the other down so the disc could fly between them.

The soldiers were advancing. Jet and Mercury drew for their discs as their enemies rose their own. But before anyone could fire, two discs flew out from behind the group, cutting through two of the men and instantly derezzing them. The commander and his remaining subordinate jerked around, watched as the discs returned to their master.

Jet and Mercury stayed put, hands still reaching for their weapons. Everyone held their breaths, the guards nervously standing their ground. From around the tank a figure appeared; his circuits were minimal, leaving his black suit mostly bare. There was a single t-like shape over his chest, both hands tight around identical blue discs.

Immediately, the guards recognized the discs, the design. "Rin-Rinzler?" the commander sputtered.

The Program walked closer, stopped. "Not quite," he replied, voice grave. His helmet retracted and the sight of his face nearly sent the corrupted Programs tumbling. He spread his arms, discs blazing and whirling. "But close enough," Tron said and lunged forward.

* * *

T/B/C

**A/N**:

Vulcan is technically an OC but based on a single panel from _Tron: Betrayal_. That being the voice from Kevin's computer. Oh, I figured it was just some reminder or whatever, but I liked the idea of Kevin's computer sort of having a personality. Besides, it needed a Tower Guardian. Vulcan was used in my _Synchronicity_ fic.

Vulcan's name is derived from the Roman God of the same name. His Greek counterpart would be Hephaestus. Both gods can kindle fire and govern over volcaneos. Also, Vulcan was to be the name of a theorized planet between the sun and Mercury before it was revealed the planet was non-existent. Vulcan is gender neutral, and I used a few gender neutral pronouns; ey being in place of s/he, hir being in place of him/her. I'm no expert, so if I've offended anyone or get anything wrong, my apologies and please do tell me.

Jet's rod is sort of a deviated form of the canonical PRod (Rod Primitive.) As it stands, it currently does not have the exact same features, but you never know!

Fiddled a bit with the concept of the portal and digitizer, of course.

I was a little apprehensive about bringing Tron back so soon, but I hope that it won't be such a quick decision as the story progresses. I wanted the focus of this chapter to be on Jet and Mercury, so there's not much mention about the others. As I said, however, this is more of a sequel idea than a general series, where things can move a bit slower. But we'll see.

Not entirely happy with this chapter, but I hope it at least satisfies you, the reader. C:


	7. Chapter 6

Phew! Here is the new chapter. This was a bit of a monster of a chapter with a bit to cover. I hope I've managed to do so with grace. Also, recently caught the Tron 3/day after teaser. Amazing! I was so happy to see Ram's User! I just hope you all enjoy this chapter and it isn't too over or underwhelming! As always, thank you so much for your reviews and concrit!

* * *

**CHAPTER 6  
**

* * *

The guards lasted exactly one minute Grid-time against Tron.

They put up a fight - for as much room of attack they had been given. Tron went for the weaker of the two first, the subordinate. In a show of what might have been courage or to prove himself to his superior, the guard rushed forward, met Tron half-way. He went in half-cocked, blinded by both fear and determination. Tron cut through him quick and clean.

The commander of the attack party, however, was not nearly as bold and was ready to flee. Tron squatted and pounced, landing in front of the corrupted Program. He gave a gasp, whipped out his disc and crashed it against Tron's. They danced in blow meeting defensive blow before Tron kicked aside his arm and split him right down the middle into two, derezzing halves.

Above, the single Light Fighter was finishing off the Recognizer. Half of it was falling apart as it limped back toward the capitol. The Fighter shot after it, leaving it barely intact on its cowardly return home.

"Whoa."

Jet took a deep breath. Everything had happened too fast, almost as if the past two minutes had been a figment of his jumbled imagination. Mercury squeezed his arm, forcing him back to reality. She pulled him closer, her disc in hand as Tron slowly turned from the fading remains of his enemy. By the look on Mercury's face, she wasn't nearly as impressed as Jet.

Tron turned, walking toward the two. His face was hidden from the passing clouds of smoke and debris, forcing Jet to squint to get a good look at him. But a second later, the Program stood before them, head lifted to look them straight in the eyes. Jet felt himself choke on shock and spit. "D-Dad?" he sputtered, unable to help himself. It wasn't possible, for obvious reasons and this version was younger, much younger, but...

"I am not your father, Jethro," Tron stated. He offered his hand. "But I am very, very glad to see that you are still functioning."

Tron's hand was met with Mercury's disc threatening to slice it off if he came any closer. "Why are you here?" she demanded.

Jet looked at her, shocked. "Mercury," he grumbled, "it's _Tron _- "

"When we didn't hear back from you, we expected the worse," Tron answered, remaining eerily calm.

"But why are _you_ here?" Mercury squinted. "I know Flynn had said your condition was stable, but why would he send you? Why risk it?"

"He did not send me," Tron replied, "I came myself."

"Without Kernel's permission?"

"_Look_," and suddenly Tron's voice was dark, cold. Jet flinched. The security Program glared at Mercury, frown tight. "If it had not been for my sneaking out, you two would be derezzed. Gone," he growled. It didn't comfort Mercury, however. "I am not asking for your gratitude, but considering I saved the both of you, a little appreciation or trust would suffice."

This... This didn't sound like Tron. Jet had no basis to compare, no, but... Of all the stories Kevin and Sam told him, Tron was the ultimate good guy, a true warrior but friendly, warm, someone you could trust and rely on. But this Tron seemed... different.

"Mercury, put your disc down."

Jet and Mercury looked up, watched as the Light Fighter landed. Quorra quickly hopped out from the pilot's seat, approached the three. "You can trust him," she assured, joining Tron's side.

Mercury debated a moment before slowly placing her disc back in its plug. Quorra took both Jet and Sam's hands, pulling them to their feet. Jet continued staring at Tron's face - it was disconcerting just how uncanny his appearance was to Alan's.

"Something on my face, User?" the security Program asked a moment later, calm once again.

Jet tittered. "Just my dad."

Quorra turned to the User. "Is Kevin's disc intact?" she asked. He nodded, quickly handing it over. "The portal should be reset for at least two tweeks our time, eight hours yours."

"I don't think we have to worry about it closing anymore," Jet chuckled. The ISO quirked a curious brow. Jet made way for the arcade, beckoned them to follow. "C'mon. Gotta friend you need to meet."

* * *

"A Tower Guardian?"

The group stood in the old dilapidated building, Vulcan keeping close to the control system. "I-No gave me the program," Jet answered, pointed to the disc on the guardian's back. "Vulcan can access the portal at any given time, even when it's closed. But only Kevin can issue the commands."

Quorra studied the faceless Program. "Are you sure Vulcan can't open and close it at will?"

"I am incapable of acting on my own," Vulcan stated. "I am powerless without command. Kevin Flynn is the only one who may access me. No one else has the power or permission, myself included."

Mercury stroked her chin. "Well, that does secure the portal problem, I guess," she said, "but... I'm sure Wisteria is now fully aware there's Users residing in the Grid." She looked between her comrades. "Unlike Clu, I don't think she has any desire to expand into the real world. So now that you are here, she may destroy the system and trap you."

"Wisteria?" Tron mumbled.

"I wasn't able to fill Tron in with the current goings-on," Quorra explained. "Wisteria was Clu's chief engineer. She declared herself leader after his demise."

"As it stands, she's a force to be reckoned with, just like Clu," Mercury added. "She may not be as organized, but the city and most of the Grid is under her thumb. Wisteria's not far from rebuilding the empire."

Tron frowned. "... I see." He lifted his head, looked to Vulcan. "As it stands - Are we quite positive of Wisteria's motives? Do we know for sure she will not attempt to execute Clu's plans?"

"There's no telling for sure," Quorra said, "but it's a possibility. Just like destroying the portal once and for all."

Jet swallowed. "They can't do that, can they?" He felt something akin to panic rise in his chest. "I mean, this place was blown sky high, but the system was barely scratched."

"If you can kill a User," Mercury said lowly, "then I'm sure you can destroy their creations as well."

Jet winced. "Leaving Vulcan stationed here is too dangerous. We can't risk them getting captured and reprogrammed," Tron explained. He nodded back to the guardian. "Vulcan needs to come with us."

"My place remains here," Vulcan insisted, "I am its guardian. I cannot leave."

"You must!"

Vulcan remained calm. "As I stated previously, I hold no power over my actions," ey eplained. "I do what I am programmed to do, which is to guard my User's tower and execute any and all his commands."

"And since we aren't Kevin," Jet grumbled, "you literally can't budge." Vulcan nodded and the User took a deep breath. "But, I mean, _I'm_ the one who installed you," he continued. "Wouldn't that make _me_ your User?"

Mercury nodded. "Your original User, your Creator - you can't follow their orders, either, and they made you!"

"My User deactivated me," Vulcan said, "at that, I was officially detached and fell dormant."

"Disowned," Jet murmured. He thought a moment, then said, "Does Kevin need to be here, physically, to give orders?"

"Voice activation is sufficient."

Jet nodded. "Right." He took a deep breath, looked over the group. "Well, Vulcan's not going anywhere, not for a while."

"He cannot be left alone," Tron stated. He turned back to Quorra. "The others - assign them to watch over Vulcan and the portal until we arrange something with Kevin. There's a high chance the soldiers will return."

Quorra nodded and left the basement.

Tron thought a moment before addressing Mercury, meeting her eye to eye. "Mercury," he said, calmly, "I'm going to need your help building a perimeter around the area. Something that will keep Wisteria's men out as well as notify us should anyone break the barrier. It won't be very big, but it'll at least help keep the place closed."

Mercury was quiet a moment, looked meekly at the User.

Jet nodded.

"... Okay," she replied a moment later.

Jet moved up to Tron's side as the three headed back upstairs. "What do you want me to do?" he asked.

"Get in the Fighter," the security Program answered, "we can handle the rest."

Jet frowned. "But I - "

"You're not needed," Tron pressed. His tone was cold again. He rose a hand to the User, said, "For now, we - " Before he could finish, the security Program quickly shoved Jet down. Mercury went for her disc, but stopped; Tron threw one of his across the street. She barely saw the florescent face of a figure peeking out the alley. It disappeared just as the disc sliced the corner of the wall a second later.

Tron ran to the alley, catching his disc on its way back. Mercury pulled Jet to his feet, only for the User to quickly chase after Tron. "What was that?" he demanded, meeting with him in the abandoned alley.

Tron turned, faced him. "I was hoping you could tell me."

"All I saw was..." Jet raised hands to his face, gestured around his head. "Purple. Looked humanoid."

"It wasn't any ordinary Program," Tron murmured. He paced a few steps forward, paused before his eyes rose. "I'd say it was almost..."

Jet waited for him to finish. But as the seconds ticked by, and there was no response... "Almost a what?" he finally asked.

Tron studied the User's face. Confused, a little frightened, curious. He shook his head. "Nothing. I'm not sure," he said finally and marched briskly past Jet. Jet turned, watched him join Mercury. He couldn't help but feel a bit offended.

"What's his problem?"

"He's different, that's for sure."

Quorra approached the User, eyes following Tron. A few Programs shuffled out of the Fighter, heading for the basement. "I never met Tron, personally," she explained, "but even I can tell he's not himself."

"Do you think it was wise to let him come?" Jet asked.

"It wasn't my decision," Quorra replied and frowned.

* * *

III

* * *

"Tron lives."

Malvir lifted his head, looked to Wisteria. She stood before the massive window, watched as her men went about readying the arena for the games. "Tron?" Malvir repeated. "He was derezzed many cycles ago."

Wisteria smirked. "Clu told me the very same thing shortly after I came into his service. But even I knew a Program as powerful and strong as Tron would not be so easily defeated."

"If that were so," Malvir said, "then where has he been all this time? Someone so loyal to his people and the Users, he would not remain idle during Clu's reign."

Wisteria inhaled. "That," she hummed, "I cannot answer for sure." She rapped fingers against her chest. "Perhaps it is merely intuition that I believe he was..." She hesitated. "But no matter where he has been, preparing himself for a war or licking his wounds, he has returned. I know this much."

Malvir stayed quiet, a low hum drawn from the pit of his throat. "Suppose that were true," he said, "then the Rebels may have gained a great advantage."

"The Rebels are not in possession of the Z-Lot."

The smaller Program stood. "I do not wish to question your decisions, Wisteria, but you seem to put such faith in these Users and their weapons." He approached her slow and carefully. "It is dangerous to trust them so easily."

Wisteria laughed. "Whereas you hold very little trust in me, Malvir." The smaller Program tilted his head. "Do you think I am such a fool as to place myself at the Users' complete mercies?" She chortled, making way for the door. "I suppose I ought to put your mind at ease, then."

Malvir tailed unsurely behind. "How do you mean?"

Before Wisteria could answer, Rome and a pack of guards were rushing to her side. "Milady!" Rome wheezed and panted, a datapad flailing in his chubby hand.

"Has the party returned with any survivors or captives?" the female Program demanded.

Rome gulped. "I fear not, milady." He handed the 'pad over, hand shaking. "In fact, half the party was destroyed moments after they arrived. Of the twenty-two guards we dispatched, only six returned, four of which have suffered major injuries."

Wisteria narrowed her eyes, taking the datapad. She scanned through the written accounts as well as video images taken. The Light Fighter attacking the Recognizer, the tanks as they were easily destroyed - She paused, one image catching her eye. Barely visible in the lingering fog, a figure was leaping out from the back of the Light Fighter.

With some tweaking and zooming, Wisteria expanded the image. A smile was hidden beneath her mask. "It seems my intuition was not in error," she chuckled and handed the 'pad to Malvir. He took it, eyed the figure until he spotted the 'T' formation on his chest.

"Rinzler?"

"It appears Rinzler never truly existed. So my intuition had not been wrong in believing Tron and Rinzler to be one in the same. Oh, how many people fell for the trap, but I knew..." Wisteria sneered. "However, Tron has made his official return debut public." She looked over her guards. "I want security - "

"Milady, if I may?"

Wisteria flinched. She yanked her wrist from Malvir's hand, glowered.

"I can handle the business with security," the smaller Program assured.

Wisteria snorted. "See to it then," she ordered, "but touch me again, and you will find yourself lacking an arm."

"Yes, milady," he said quietly.

* * *

III

* * *

The flight had been... awkward.

Quorra piloted the Light Fighter as it returned to Divide. Leaving behind its previous passengers, replaced with Jet, Mercury, and Tron. The former two sat side by side against one wall, Tron against the other. The security Program was quietly thinking, fiddling with minor repairs with his disc.

Not a word had been spoken. Noises from the Outland's winds blowing against the Fighter served like the awkward chirping of crickets. Occasionally the ship would rock, but Jet would touch the wall, and it would calm. User powers or not, he was doing something to help them through this new storm.

"I hope Tera made it safe back to base."

Jet turned to Mercury. "I'm sure he got hold of the other Light Fighter."

"Yeah, after abandoning us and all," the User snorted.

Mercury chuckled. "Tera's a skilled fighter, but his courage could use some improvement." She shrugged. "Even the greatest of warriors can... break down sometimes." Her electric blue eyes drifted to Tron, completely engrossed in his work.

Jet got the hint. He leaned closer. "He does seem kinda cold," he whispered, "but I guess you can't blame him?"

"Given what he's been through, yeah," Mercury whispered back, "which is also why I don't completely trust - "

"I have to apologize for my attitude back there."

Mercury and Jet instantly shut their mouths. Tron placed his disc in its plug, smiled warmly at the two. "I came off as rather rude and forceful," he said, "I apologize if it bothered you."

"It was just a surprise," Jet murmured. "We didn't think you'd be up and on your feet so... so soon."

Tron chuckled. "Nor did I," he breathed. He pressed his hands together. "But as soon as I was informed the Grid was still in trouble..." He frowned slightly. "I simply couldn't stand by and wait."

"You should have stayed behind," Mercury insisted.

Quorra added playfully, "That's what I said."

"But," Tron laughed softly, "I'm afraid I couldn't." He sighed, massaging circles into his temples. "I am feeling a bit fatigued. I imagine I'll need to go on stand-by soon."

Jet nodded. "I understand." Though he didn't, not entirely. Even though he had done some rather stupid and risky things, it was wrong for Tron to go right back into battle so soon after his repairs.

"Kernel doesn't know you came, though, right?" Mercury inquired.

"No."

The female Program winced. "He's gonna be so pissed."

Tron chuckled. "I can only imagine."

* * *

III

* * *

It came in little fragments. Glitches or slips of clarity and unconsciousness. Like a fitful sleep, constantly between awake and dreaming. Of course, there was no way he could put the puzzle together. Each scene went fast and quick, noises and voices clashing, lights too bright. A film skipping between stopping, playing and jumping forward and back in time.

Hands, he remembered those. They were all over him. Lifting him up, lying him down. Hands pressing and touching the wound across his stomach as the pain dulled. Hands touching his face, stroking his cheeks, feeling his throat for a pulse. Weathered hands, aged; soft, smooth, fingers long and thin. Male and female. The voices-they were male and female too. Speaking to him, speaking to others; they all appeared as silhouettes of black above him with blinding white light pouring along the shapes of their heads and hands. He could barely make out any facial features or expressions, briefly saw lips move to one voice.

There was one last thing before the darkness took him, put him into a deep sleep. A sensation he would never quite recall when he woke, and yet could never forget. It was... hard to explain. The hands worked around the wound for what felt like hours, but then... A strange, strange feeling, like a needle gently stitching up his wound, moving too fast for a human pace. It was warm then, suddenly so very, very warm, as if fresh sunlight had spilled over him and he vaguely recalled sighing.

A dream replaced the noises, the touches, the warmth. He was six again. He was in a pair of blue overalls, an ugly red undershirt with a choo-choo train stitched on the front. Splatters of spaghetti across his brand new overalls, hands and face smeared in tomato sauce. He was sitting at a small table, not in his home, someone else's. He knows this because it smells like incense - his house doesn't and he can see a woman - really pretty, older - watching them, giggling over a glass of wine and she is not his mother, but a friend, though he cannot recall her name.

But then there is his father. Kevin Flynn, much younger than the jaded old man he was when Sam last saw him. He's laughing with his little boy, playfully tossing bits of spaghetti at him. He's got some noodles and sauce on him, too, and they're having a small food fight - nothing too messy, but just enough. The woman doesn't seem to mind, but mom does. She comes into the kitchen, long hair halo'd with sunshine cascading from a nearby window. She picks her son up and chides Kevin but she doesn't sound or look very angry; in fact she starts to smile when her husband starts talking. And even though the food fight's over and he still wants to play, Sam's happy and laughing because mom is laughing and now dad is picking a noodle from off his shoulder, slurping it up, and it's the most hilarious thing he's ever seen.

Like so many dreams, it faded from memory as the tendrils of consciousness pulled him back to the surface.

Sam felt his body twitch, nose wrinkle. He groaned as he tried to move, only to feel a slow ache work up his spine and into his head. He rose hands slowly, yawned into them as his eyes rolled against the back of their lids. His throat was dry; lips smacking as he licked them for moisture. For a moment, Sam wondered if he was home, rising to a usual morning. But once his brain was over the lag, he snapped his eyes open and sat up quickly.

Sam flinched, but not from pain. Rather, the fear of pain to come. Such quick movement would surely irritate his wound. But nothing came, not a single flare or tingle. Swallowing hard, Sam carefully pushed the blanket off him. He was no longer in his suit, but rather a loose pair of pants and undershirt. Both of which he recognized as his father's, the very same he wore the night he...

Sam yanked the shirt up, eyes bulging. The wound - there was nothing there. No indication he had even been injured. And to think, with the blood loss alone, he should have been dead. Not a scar, not a pucker of old damaged skin. He swept a hand over his stomach, just in case; nothing. It was healed - completely, perfectly.

"I told you, man. The Grid's got some amazing technology."

Sam felt something in his chest tighten. He swallowed again, looked up. Sitting five feet away was Kevin Flynn. The same as before, down to the robe and shoes and that grayed beard. He sat crosslegged, hands in his lap, smiling at his son. Sam didn't say anything, felt words choke in his throat.

"You were laughing in your sleep," Kevin stated, "you must of had a funny dream."

Sam wanted to laugh and tell him he couldn't remember. Kevin could tell him that's common, no problem, no side effect of the damage he took. Like the last time they reunited, a few nervous, unsure words. But not this time. Sam didn't care if the wound was gone and the pain remained; he shoved the blankets off and stood, approaching the older man. Kevin looked up, blinked. Taking a deep breath, Sam fell to his knees, threw his arms tightly around his father until he was sure, absolutely positive, this was not part of a dream.

The arms around him were strong, nearly constricting him; they assured him this was, indeed, all very real. Neither spoke, not for a while, held one another in their arms. Clung, practically, and Kevin buried his face into his son's shoulder. The older man shuddered, and maybe he was crying, but that was fine. Sam patted down his back, let him know he wasn't leaving. The corner of his eyes stung as they clouded with tears; he sniffed, dug fingers into the back of Kevin's robe and held on.

Minutes passed, but it felt longer and yet not long enough before they let each other go. Sam sat back, watched as his father dabbed his eyes dry with his giant sleeve. He laughed then, uneasily at first, but when he lifted his head and showed those familiar eye crinkles he made whenever he was amused or happy, Sam laughed as well. "Don't cry on me, old man," Sam chortled, felt breathless, as he rubbed his eyes.

"It's all so emotional, man," Kevin snickered. He clapped his hands together, beamed. "I mean, I just... I can't explain it. How I feel right now. Joy, happiness, relief..." He looked over his hands. "Shock and awe." His eyes, wide and glazed, met Sam's. "You brought me back! I didn't think it was possible for a User..."

"I didn't either," Sam answered. "But it was worth the shot." He smiled happily. "Very worth it."

Kevin threw up his hands. "This is more than bio-digital jazz, man, this is - this is on levels of omnipotence and godly!" He shook his head, still studying his hands. "The possibilities, using only memories and data collected from a disc...!"

Sam reached out, squeezed his shoulder. "All this can wait until we get you back home," he insisted, voice almost commanding. Kevin's smile went crooked. "Are you feeling well? Like yourself?"

Kevin took a deep breath, scratched at his bearded chin. "I still feel a little off kilter, but," he said, "other than that, good as new."

"Nothing out of the ordinary? No major changes or weird side effects?"

Kevin smiled. "No," he said a moment later.

Sam nodded, relieved. "It's weird, though," he said, glanced at his stomach. "I'm pretty sure I lost a lot of blood back there." He looked his father square in the eye. "How'd you manage to find that on the Grid?"

"Pfft, Sam. Not _everything_ is magic," Kevin sneered and swatted a hand at him. "We share the same bloodtype, remember?" He pulled back his sleeve, displayed the tiny pin-prick in the crease of his elbow. "I simply donated."

"And you're not out like a light?" Sam laughed. "You seem quite rejuvenated."

Kevin shrugged. "Well, you've been out for quite a few hours," he explained. "We were able to get the transfer done on the ride back to this place." He eyed the walls and ceiling. "Divide, Quorra tells me. Said it's currently host to a bunch of Rebel Programs led by Kernel." He tittered. "Afraid we didn't have time to catch up. Haven't seen him since he brought us here."

Sam nodded, before quickly remembering the others. "Where is Quorra?" he asked, glancing across the room. "... Hell, where's everyone else?"

"Quorra, Tron, and Jet went to run some err-"

"Tron?" Sam sat forward. He remembered then, remembered the fight with Rinzler, the Program's struggle with one personality... The wound he received from one of his discs, and before passing out, seeing Rinzler knocked cold on the ground beside him. "You sent _Tron_ with them?"

"His programming had been off the wall since he apparently emerged from the Sea of Simulation," Kevin explained, gesturing wildly. "When you were fighting him, Tron was struggling to overpower his Rinzler programming. But after I emerged and got a hold of him, well..." He shrugged. "User jazz, man."

"So he's one hundred percent healed then?"

"No," Kevin mumbled. "It'll take time for him to fully recuperate. Not just physically, either." He sighed and rolled his eyes. "But he came to and he wouldn't stay put when he overheard Kernel ordering Quorra to send backup for Jet. When she came to excuse herself, Tron insisted he go." He shook his head. "She didn't want him to, but... There was no stopping him. He was stable enough, so I told Quorra to take him. So she snuck him out; Kernel probably would have knocked him back into Lala Land if he caught him."

Sam frowned. "But can we trust him? I know he's Tron again, but you said he's still - "

"We can trust him," Kevin interjected. His voice firm but reassuring. "Believe it or not, he's going through a lot more pain than both you and I combined. This is his way of healing."

Sam didn't know if he could believe him, believe in Tron, but... "I guess so."

"Hey, man, come on," Kevin laughed and slapped him upside the arm. "You're the one who let _Jet_ tag along!"

"It was an accident!" Sam insisted.

"A pretty nicely timed one, I'd say." The laughter died down, and once more, Kevin's face was serious. "You came back, Sam. Why?"

Sam blinked. That was a rather ridiculous question. "To bring you back," he answered.

"You didn't know you could when you came," Kevin stated.

Sam frowned. He took a deep breath and sat back. "You're still the reason," he mumbled, "I just needed..." His hands spread, closed.

Kevin smiled weakly. "Closure."

"Yeah." Sam shrugged. "Plus, I guess it was only right we check up on the place after the catastrophe."

"Indeed," Kevin muttered. He squinted his eyes, moving closer to his son. "Tell me the current status of the Grid. Quorra informed me there was another civil war going on. The remainder of Clu's armies have taken control of TRON City again, and we are one of three major Rebel factions."

Sam nodded. "Clu's men are now led by Wisteria. Don't know much about her besides she worked for Clu for years. The other two factions are situated around TRON City; one inside, run by Shaddox, another on the outskirts. The games - I don't think they're running anymore. Mostly, it's been a bit chaotic, but Wisteria's slowly regaining complete control."

Kevin tilted his head slightly. "The name Wisteria doesn't ring a bell, no. But it's a relief to hear Shaddox is still fighting." He looked back to his son. "As it stands, are we outnumbered?"

Sam frowned. He hesitated a moment. "It would appear so." Kevin growled disapprovingly and ran a hand through his silver and white hair. Sam sat forward and continued, "But that's not your problem." His father cast him a baffled look. "You're not fighting in this war, dad," he stated. "You've been through enough. As healthy and stable as you are now, you're done. I'm not letting you take the burden of the Grid's problems for a third time."

"I fear I simply can't just remove myself from the problem, Sam."

"And why not?" Sam demanded. All of this, all of this pain and trouble to bring his father back, and now he wanted to rush back into battle? "Wasn't it you who preached at me about removing yourself from the equation, all that zen crap on giving up?"

Kevin frowned. "I thought it was the only solution then. I was wrong, Sam. Resigning myself to that fate killed me." He sat up straight. "Which is why I won't do it again."

"You're not... resigning yourself," Sam argued, narrowing his eyes. "You're accepting reality, fate. This is not your war anymore, dad. I came here, I stirred up trouble; I don't regret it, not at all, but it's on my shoulders now." His voice grew sharper. "Just as I took control of ENCOM when I came back, I will do the same for the Grid."

Kevin widened his eyes. "You..."

Sam reached forward, placed his hands on top of his father's. "You're finally going _home_, dad. A place you haven't known for... for God knows how long here. A place where you _belong_." He chortled. "It's gonna be Hell explaining your sudden return, but we're gonna work through it. And... You'll be okay."

Kevin slowly relaxed, his smile soft. He turned his hands over, palm against palm. "I believe you, kid. And believe you me, I wanna go home more than you can imagine." His hands slowly curled around his son's. "But just like you, I've some unfinished business here and I'm afraid - "

Sam ripped his hands free and stood. "Why?" he snapped, his father's eyes widening. He glowered. "Why is it so hard for you to step down? You've always been proud, but is your pride worth your life? There's no harm, no shame in retreating, you know! You don't _have_ to keep fighting! No one will hold it against you!"

"I've disappointed many, Sam," Kevin murmured, "I fear I can only pray for redemption for those who put so much hope and faith in me."

"_Screw_ them!" Sam snarled, earning another shocked look. He ran his hands through his hair, paced once. "You just - You can't fight, not anymore." He almost looked pleading now, mixed with his frustration. "You've been given a second chance. You know how many people just come back from the dead? _None_. Leave the Grid, _go home_ and just... _heal_."

Kevin shut his eyes, head bowing. "I could do that, Sam. You're right. Maybe it'd be for the best. Just letting it go." Sam nodded, relaxing a little. "But," Kevin continued, met his son's eyes again, "you could have very easily done the same."

"What?"

"You came back to the Grid for closure, and unfortunately, you landed yourself in conflict again," Kevin explained. "But the moment you heard there was a possibility of bringing me back, you took it. You took it despite all the risks, the sacrifices, the very _danger_." His gaze locked Sam in silence. "You did not accept my fate and instead, changed it with the very risk of your _life_."

Sam pressed hands to his forehead. "It's not - it's not the same."

"It may not be, Sammy," Kevin chortled, "but you gotta admit, it's pretty similar."

Sam threw his hands aside. "So then, what?" he growled. "You want to stay and fight? You want to set yourself up for death again?" A card he shouldn't play, oh and Sam knew the blow would hit hard. But he had to convince his father, make him understand. He took a deep breath and continued, "What would you dying say about the risks I took? I nearly died bringing you back. And so you run head first back into war and get yourself killed and insult everything I've done for you to bring you here, now, with a chance you thought you lost not once, but twice. How _ungrateful, inconsiderate and selfish_ can you be?"

It worked, and it sickened Sam. Kevin looked more than shocked; he looked utterly pained, hurt to the very core. Sam had to look away, all ready starting to feel terrible. And through the cold and aching silence, he felt like turning back to his father, apologizing but no, no, he had to be firm -

"Kevin Flynn!"

Both Users looked wide eyed to the door as it flew open. Kernel stomped inside, his red circuits aflame. He glanced at the empty bed across the room, furiously turned his glare back to Kevin. "Where is Tron?" he snarled.

Kevin relaxed; outwardly, he appeared fine. "Um," he said, looked around, "gone?"

Kernel marched inside, fists swaying. "One of my soldiers informed me they spotted Tron leaving the room shortly after Quorra," he hissed. "You told me he was still in stasis!"

"What can I say, Kernel?" Kevin shrugged, laughed. "We both know how Tron is."

"_Tron_ was once Rinzler, a mindless killing machine that worked under Clu," the large Program barked, "your User powers may have healed him, but who's to say it wasn't a cover? Who's to say he isn't out there, murdering my soldiers, still under the influence of Rinzler's programming?"

Kevin stood, raising both hands. Kernel loomed over him by nearly four feet. "Calm down, big guy," he chortled, "everything's all right. Quorra knows what to do should he suddenly - "

"Quorra's aware of his escape?"

"He was never being held prisoner, man," the User said.

Kernel wanted to rip out his eyes. "You're a fool, always been a fool!" he spat, shoving a large finger against Kevin's chest. "You may be closer to Tron more than anyone else, but he's been under Clu's control for cycles now! The damage may be permanent, and all you see is a clever disguise!"

Kevin wrinkled his nose. "And you've always been a stubborn ass," he said, and Sam couldn't help but hide a small smirk. "If I knew Tron was unstable, I wouldn't have let him go. Trust me."

"You also thought _Clu_ would never make such a ridiculous move against you and the Grid, remember?"

Kevin scowled, hands on his hips. "Well there's no need to hit below the belt, man. Cut me some slack - I just came back from the dead, y'know?"

"You may just return to your grave if Tron kills the others and leads Wisteria back to Divide," Kernel growled.

Before the arguing could continue, Sam marched between them, holding out his hands. "Knock it off, knock it off!" he snarled, and the two went quiet, fuming as they glared burning knives at one another. "Look. What matters right now is if the others are safe and sound."

"Quorra sent a message two kilos ago," Kernel grumbled, "they will be arriving shortly."

"Is Jet okay?"

"He is fine, as is Mercury..."

Sam pushed. "_And_ Tron?"

Kernel frowned, hesitated. "He _functions_."

"Aw, man!" Kevin snapped and moved past his son, pointing at the giant's face. "You knew this entire time they were on their way back and perfectly okay! So that entire line about Tron leading Wisteria here - That was bad, man, now you're just being a _guilt tripping_ stubborn ass!"

"You shut your mouth! You know, thanks to you, Genesis has been falling apart, flooding through the Outlands!"

"Are you _reprogrammed_ to guilt trip people, Kern?"

"Do not address me as Kern! You know I loathe that nickname!"

Sam almost wished he was back asleep. He couldn't even bother to separate the two. The fight seemed to be getting heated, but nothing threatening. It was like two chickens squabbling at one another, mindless and irritating.

"Sir!"

The two stopped their arguing immediately at the new presence. A Program stood in the doorway, beaming. "Quorra and the others have returned!" he exclaimed.

Sam smirked at the two. "How about you girls stop pulling each others pigtails and go greet the troops?" he teased before following the smaller Program out of the room.

* * *

"After we speak with Kernel and Flynn," Mercury suggested, hopping out of the Fighter, "we should go back for the others."

Tron nodded to the female Program. "If we can get at least a voice recording or video of Kevin ordering Vulcan to leave, I'm sure they will verify it as legitimate and return with us," he explained.

"We can't risk him going to the city right now, that's for sure," Jet mumbled.

"Sam!"

The three looked to Quorra, suddenly smiling and bright eyed. She rushed from the group to meet with Sam Flynn, quickly throwing her arms around him. "You're awake!" she exclaimed, let him go. She took his hands, sized him up. "How do you feel? You look..." It was then she noticed the jacket he was wearing. Flynn's old jacket - black with the single strip of circuit white. She smiled softly. "... You look good."

Sam chuckled. "I feel good, weirdly enough," he said. "You Programs sure now how to fix a cut or two." He laughed, but Quorra remained quiet, looking over his shoulder. Sam blinked and turned, Kernel and Kevin walking out to join them. The air around them was still tense, and it was obvious Kernel was in bad spirits.

"User magic, Grid magic, doesn't matter, you're alive," Kevin cheered, patting his son on the back. He looked to Quorra. "How'd the mission go?"

"Most of the team was wiped out, unfortunately," the ISO murmured, "but we were able to rescue a few."

Jet nearly tripped out of the Fighter. "Sam!" he shouted. A second later, he was right in his old friend's face. "What are you doing up how are you even standing I mean shouldn't you still be out aren't you in any pain?"

Sam rose a hand, snickered. "My brain's still a bit laggy, so yeah."

Kernel moved close to Quorra. "And Tron," he grumbled, "how was he?"

The ISO went to speak - "I'm fine," Tron said, making his way over. He smiled at the glowering giant. "Thank you for asking."

"Had I known you were going to sneak out of the fortress," Kernel hissed, "I would have thrown you into the brig."

Tron frowned. "That's not a very nice way to greet an old friend."

"You have not been my friend in cycles."

"No," the security Program said, and his voice returned with that eerie edge. He glared with more intensity than Kernel's own paranoia and distrust. "But you can believe me, at least for _this_, that it was not by _choice_." Tron cracked his neck slightly. "So if it's not too much trouble on your part, would you kindly please stop accusing me for what was out of my control?"

Kernel spat. "You're not to leave the confines without my command." Tron opened his mouth. "You are not the leader of this outfit." He turned his glare onto Kevin, Sam, Quorra, and Jet. "And Users you may be, but I'm still running the show. So I suggest, as your acting commander and leader, you show me respect and abide by my decisions."

"We are not charged to stay here, are we?" Tron demanded coldly. "You've no right to keep us prisoner."

"You are free to leave Divide," Kernel assured, "if you intend never to come back." His eyes squinted at the smaller security Program. "I would not be surprised if you were to leave and return with an armada, that is."

In a split second, Tron had his discs out. Kernel went for his own, but was too slow. It took a swift kick to the knee, and the giant Program was on the ground, Tron straddling his waist. One disc pushed against Kernel's throat, but the Program was not afraid.

"Do it!" Kernel frothed. "Go on then! Derezz me!"

"I should," Tron growled, second disc pulled back above him, "put you out of your wallowing, bitter misery."

"Tron!" Quorra shouted. "Step down!" She went to pull the Program off herself before Sam grabbed her arm, yanked her back.

Mercury held out her katana, moving around the two. "Tron, don't make us fight you," she grumbled, flicked the glowing blade aside.

Tron kept his eyes staring deep into Kernel's. "You've been running too long on your old wounds," he spat, "you might just become obsolete." And that earned a reaction, a wide eyed gaze. "That frightens you more, doesn't it? Derezzing? Hardly. But the idea that you'd one day become useless and outdated..."

"Tron."

The word alone was enough to remove the flame from his eyes, and Tron blinked, suddenly confused as to what he was doing. Kevin stepped forward, and the security Program turned to look at him. "That's enough," Kevin said, calmly.

Tron looked from the User, back to Kernel. He studied his old friend's face, remembered... "I... I..." He swallowed, quickly jumping off the giant Program. He stepped back, Mercury rushing past him to help Kernel back to his feet. "I'm. I didn't." Questioning, confused eyes looking him over, wondering why he had attacked. His shoulders fell, eyes lowering with shame. "I'm sorry."

Sam jumped when Tron suddenly turned on heel, darting off. "Tron - !" he shouted, only for Kevin to step in front of him.

"Let him be," he insisted, "he's not going anywhere."

"Faah!" Kernel snorted, brushed himself off. He glared down at Mercury. "Go keep an eye on him. I don't want him out of your-"

"I'll keep an eye on him."

Everyone turned their attention to Jet. He moved forward, patted the rod strapped to his side. "I'll watch over him. No worries."

"Tron's very powerful, Jet," Quorra murmured, "if he should turn on you - "

"Yeah, but he won't," the User replied. He smiled. "Kevin said so." He didn't wait for a response or protest, instead quickly ran off in Tron's direction.

Sam sighed. "I feel responsible for him, you know," he said, "I should go, too."

"You're not going anywhere, mister," Quorra snorted. She took the User's arm, tugged him back. "You may be all right, but you still need to rest." She nodded to Mercury, who saluted and followed after Jet, keeping a distance between them. The ISO reached out, grabbed a fistful of Kevin's robe. "Same for you, Kevin. We've got a lot of talking to do."

"All of you go back to your chambers," Kernel ordered with a soft grumble, "before I derezz the lot of you myself."

* * *

III

* * *

The door to the empty room opened, flooding the darkness with orange and yellow light. A tall, dark figure moved into the doorway, looked to his right and left. A moment later, he entered, the door closing and locking with a click. The darkness lifted a second later, soft light filling the room.

Seth waited a moment. "41 6c 6c 79," he said seemingly to no one.

There came a soft shuffling before violet light poured out from one tucked away corner. The figure dressed from head to toe in the electric purple suit emerged, eyes a pair of glowing yellow. Seth spotted the small tear along his cheek, showing pale tan beneath. "You were seen?" he demanded.

"It - It was an accident," the man gulped, keeping his distance.

Seth sighed. "Were you followed?"

"No."

"Why have you called me away from my duties?" Seth demanded. "You should still be on shift for another three hours."

The man nodded weakly. "I know, I know," he said, "but I've come with very important news! The Program named Tron - he's alive!"

Seth glared. "This better not be some sick joke, Mike," he spat.

"I saw him. He killed two of Wisteria's soldiers," Mike said, touched his cheek. "He attacked me."

"Tron is listed as derezzed," Seth growled. "Where the Hell has he been hiding?"

The DataWraith replied, "Not sure. I was going to follow them, but they disappeared in the Outlands."

Seth stroked his chin. "Your crew reported to Esmond, said they believe there's a Rebel base on the other side of the Grid, just outside the Outlands."

"That may well be, but we've yet to get a clear track on them," Mike answered. "Could... Could be near Genesis? The place went to Hell not too long ago, floods and everything. They might have had something to do with it."

"Genesis..." Seth hummed. He went silent in thought, Mike patiently lingering nearby. "That may be. But they may have relocated due to Genesis's sudden destruction." He glared at the DataWraith. "Report this to Esmond. I'll speak with Eva and Dillinger regarding Tron."

"Yes, sir."

Seth stomped forward, getting into the smaller man's face. "And I don't ever want to catch you or one of your comrades here ever again, do you understand?" he growled. "Wisteria and the others still haven't figured out the source of the energy fluctuations. Should they find the cause is our spies running about, the entire plan goes to Hell. Got it?"

"Yes, sir." With that, the DataWraith disappeared in a flash of purple.

Seth waited until the last residual energy of the DataWraith disappeared before relaxing. He checked his watch; shift would end in another hour. He sighed. If Tron was back, knowing the Hell he gave the ENCOM system...

"May I ask what you are looking for?"

Seth stepped back just as he went to leave. Malvir stood before him, a few feet away in the hall, the User's reflection stretched along the surface of his black helmet.

"I beg your pardon?" Seth asked, remaining cool and collected.

"You do not have authorization to be in this area," Malvir stated. "What are you doing down here?"

"I was looking for a room for Thorne to place the new shipments," the User replied. "As you know, he will be bringing more supplies shortly before the micro-cycle is up. You will need a place to store them."

"This area is low in security, unfortunately," the Program reminded. Seth looked up as two of Malvir's men, each in their harnesses, moved in closer. "It would not be wise to store such powerful weapons here, wouldn't you think?"

"You're right," Seth retorted, "but I had believed your security would be tight on all levels. I suppose I was wrong in thinking that." That struck a cord, and Malvir twitched, just barely. "I will have to find another place. Your weaponry is full, is it not?"

Malvir said, "Leave that task to me. You," he tilted his head upward, "should return to the quarters we assigned to you and the... others."

Seth nodded. "Fair enough. I leave it in your hands," he said and turned to leave.

"A small inquiry."

Seth halted, but did not turn around.

"On my way down here for patrol, we picked up another one of those small energy fluctuations." Malvir paused. "You wouldn't have any idea where they would be coming from, would you?"

"I'm afraid not," the User replied. He chuckled and continued on his way. "I'm just as lost as you."

* * *

III

* * *

The storm was on the very edges separating Divide and the Outlands. Neverending, it seemed. Clouds of black, constant thunder and lightning, but very rarely any rain. Even from where Tron sat on top of the smaller tower, he could not see the city lights. It was nothing but miles of empty land, though in the distance the flood from Genesis moved sluggishly toward the sea.

It felt... fitting, almost, Tron wanted to believe. The storm on one side, Divide, dry and at peace save a few gusts of wind on the other. Calm and chaos, right and wrong, he supposed. Tron sat forward, legs dangling just barely over the edge of the tower. His gloved fingers found the 'T' on his chest, touched it; Tron looked down, watched as each square lit up a soft glow of white under each press of finger. His digits worked across the 'T,' the distant grumbling of thunder heavy in his ears.

"I would think," he said after nearly a half hour of silence, "you would have given up by now."

Jet slowly peered over the roof from the other side. "Um," he mumbled, "you're not suppose to know I'm here."

Tron smirked. "Sorry."

"But," Jet sighed, threw a hand forward. He held on for leverage, slowly hoisted himself onto the roof. "Since you do... I guess I'm just tenacious." With a grunt, he finally rolled onto the rooftop, stood and brushed his suit off. Tron remained sitting, back to the User. Jet glanced back, debated... "So when are you going to come back down, huh?" he asked, strolling over to the Program. "The storm looks like it's getting awfully close."

"In a while," Tron replied.

Jet stopped behind him. "What's 'in a while' translate to in the Grid? Hour? Two hours?" he snorted. Without thinking, he moved to Tron's side, carefully plopping to a sit next to him. The Program cast him a surprised look. "You gotta be a little bit hungry. Or thirsty. Or... energy-deprived." He smiled at him. "The Programs running the bar downstairs really know how to make a mean... something drink."

Tron looked away again. "I'm still running on sufficient levels," he reassured.

Jet stared then shook his head.

"I don't think I should show my face to the others. Not yet, at least."

"You'll have to soon, you know," the User said.

"I know."

Jet stretched his arms forward. "So, why not get it over and done with now?" he suggested, sitting back. "I mean, I'm sure Kernel's filled them in with the basics, but, I'm afraid you've got to seal the deal."

"I can only imagine what Kernel, of all Programs, might of said," Tron snorted. Both of them chuckled, at least. "But with the presences of three Users, Kevin Flynn returning from the dead, perhaps I should wait."

The User studied Tron's face; melancholic, distant. "It's okay to be a little scared," he reassured.

Tron smiled again. "It is not entirely fear. So much as it is..." He paused, eyes turning back to the storm. "Accepting fate. I know I will never fully regain the trust of my comrades. At least, not for many cycles. I know many will understand the situation, and I know Kevin will have my back, but there will be many who will believe I... made the choice." His eyes fell. "To turn on them and ally myself with Clu."

"If anyone knows you, really knows you," Jet said, "then they'll know it wasn't your choice." He shrugged. "I hardly know anything about you, but I believe in you." He chortled. "Could be because you look so much like my dad, and the old man could barely hurt a fly. He's not like that," he reassured, "_you're_ not like that." Jet gestured to Tron's face. "You inherited my dad's eyebrows. The eyebrows of honesty."

Tron laughed. "Ah, yes, I see then," he said, sweeping a hand over his eyebrows. "Perhaps if my 'honesty eyebrows' could work on everyone else..."

"I'll level with you," the User replied, took a deep breath, "no apology is going to fix what you've done. Even though it wasn't your choice, and you did it all against your will. And I know you know that, but... I'm sure you also know that doesn't mean giving up hope. It means, you gotta _prove_ you're the hero you once were." Jet gestured forward with arms spread. "Though the world may be turned against you, you gotta just keep going forward. Kick ass, take some names, _show_ them you're on their side. And then, over time," he chuckled, "you'll be back on their 'nice guy' list."

"As you said, I know all of this," Tron replied, "and I do intend to fight. For them, for the Users. For myself I thought I had lost."

Jet beamed. "That's the spirit!"

"I feel, however... I feel almost as if I will insult them if they knew..." Tron met Jet's eyes. "... That I can remember nothing."

Jet blinked. "Wha?"

Tron stared into the storm clouds. "I remember fighting Clu. I remember how he had nearly killed me. And then... I vaguely remember fighting him, again, but as someone else... Sinking into the sea, falling, drifting..." He slowly retracted the disc from its plug, sat it in his lap. "I hardly recall anything afterward. It's all glimpses and flashes. I remember wandering aimlessly... Finding Divide... Stealing a lightcycle and following you to Genesis..." Tron turned to the User. "And then I remember waking up to the sound of Kevin's voice."

Jet hummed. "Do you remember nothing from your time as Rinzler?" he inquired.

Tron opened the disc's interface panel, displaying sheets of DNA-esque coding. "Nothing," he said, "and no matter how hard I try to remember, nothing comes to mind. Whatever access I have to my memory banks seems limited. I'm not sure if Kevin was even able to access them."

"Or maybe he didn't have the time?" Jet suggested.

Tron closed the interface panel. "That may be," he murmured, disc back in place. He folded his hands in his lap and let his eyes wander back to the storm. "I have been experiencing moments of... loss of self control. Moments of impatience, mindless anger." His hands fisted. "I am not like that. I may be brash, but I know my friends between my foes. I know how to step down. And attacking Kernel as I did..." He winced. "I fear most of the time I was unaware of what I was doing. I hardly recall even what I said to him that made him look at me so..." Hurt. It was hurt. Though Kernel would never admit it.

"Well, Kev did say you're still getting back on your feet," the User assured. "These glitches might stop over time."

"But when?" Tron demanded, glared. "Should I simply accept there are moments when I do not have full control over myself? Accept that if provoked enough, I will attack even my closest of allies? When will they end, and what if they don't?" His eyes darkened. "Tell me then I should relax. You don't know for yourself. I may never change. I may only revert back into that _monster_-" Tron squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath.

Jet frowned. "Hey..."

"It happened again," the Program whispered. He slowly opened his eyes, teeth grinding. "I... I'm sorry. I need to try to control myself better during these moods." Tron kneaded his fingers hard into his head. "I want to remember, but a part of me... I don't think it's ready. I'm afraid if I were to remember everything, now, in this condition, I may... I may fall apart."

Jet rose a hand, carefully patted his shoulder. "That's a legitimate fear," he said softly, "but... You'll get through this. You've got friends who'll help you, you know."

Tron slowly looked at Jet, studying his face. The User glanced back and forth. "I see it," the Program murmured, "I see... myself. In your face. But not just me, no..."

Jet laughed. "That's because the offspring between Users is composed of two pairs of DNA. Two Users, not just one. So usually, we don't look completely identical to our Creators," he explained. His eyes softened, and something about them brought an ache to Tron's chest. "My mother, Lora, helped to contribute, y'see. You know her... She wrote Yori."

Tron swallowed. "Yori," he murmured, and the ache in his chest blossomed. "Yes. That's who I see as well."

"Look," the User murmured, "I'm... sorry about Yori."

"If only..." Tron placed a hand over the softly glowing 'T'. "If only I knew... where she was..."

Jet gulped. "You... don't know?"

Tron looked back at him. "About Yori? They say she's derezzed, don't they?" Jet nodded weakly. "I suppose for all intents and purposes, she is..." the Program trailed off.

"How do you mean?" the User pressed. "'All intents and purposes'?"

Tron chuckled bitterly. "It's hard to explain," he said. "But... Yori and I. We... shared a connection."

"I heard," Jet murmured, "you bonded."

"Then you know what a bond means," Tron said. "I... feel her. As if she is with me. Somewhere." He winced. "My programming... It does not recognize this feeling as our bond. Whatever has activated it has corrupted it." Tron steadied himself, pushing down another rush of fury. "The glitches have soiled something most sacred to me. Taunting me in _her_ voice." He glanced at his fingers curled over his chest, twitching. "If the bond were not integrated into my very system, I would rip it out, to silence its _mocking_-!"

"Tron."

Tron jumped, a hand tight around his arm. He turned his tired gaze on Jet. "You keep fighting," the User said sternly, "until nothing of you remains. You _will not_ give up or throw your second chance away." He slowly let the Program's arm go. "It's not what Yori would want, it's not what any of us want."

Tron tried to smile, but couldn't. "You're right," he said, "she wouldn't want that."

Jet beamed. "I don't think we've been properly introduced," he chuckled and held out his hand. Tron blinked at it, looked to the User. "I'm Jethro Bradley, but call me Jet. Son of Alan-1 and LB01, User of Earth, Future Creator of Ma1a."

Tron took a moment to catch up before slipping his hand into Jet's. "Greetings, User," he said, "I am Tron."

* * *

III

* * *

"TRON is in the system."

Eva groaned as she slapped a hand on the table. "Oooh, this is just _brilliant_," she cursed.

Esmond sighed and took a seat. "DW09 informed Seth first before he came to me," he explained. He pushed the file forward.

"You seem to be making a mountain out of a mole hole, as my father would say."

Esmond glared at the back of his boss's chair. "TRON was one of the highest rated security programs ever created by ENCOM," he explained. "The program single-handedly took down your father's corrupted program, the MCP. We're dealing with a one man army here! If we add the fact that now we got Bradley's kid running around to the equation, Sam Flynn and who knows who else - Yeah, it is a bit of a problem, sir."

The chair turned. Edward continued twisting and binding the net of paperclips between his hands. Esmond rolled his eyes. "TRON was rewritten for the Grid back in the mid-80s. Though we cannot say where he has been since then, he is still outdated. It will not be hard writing a program that easily overrides him."

"Do you propose to write a program that will then?"

Edward calmly twisted the clips. "I have one written," he replied. "But I will not use it unless absolutely necessary. And so far, things have been going swimmingly."

"For now," Esmond growled, "but - "

The fCon CEO gave a dramatic sigh and sat forward. "Tell you what," he said, pointed to his employee. "Let's put your mind at ease. We will increase the speed of our operation. Gather your DataWraiths and all information culled from the Rebel base in TRON City. Once you've established enough evidence regarding the layout and how many Rebels are within the base, go to Wisteria yourself and present to her your findings. She will believe the evidence if you can back it up; she will send soldiers to raid the base and kill or capture the Rebels. This will help our clean up of the city to the next level."

Esmond frowned. "What do I tell her if she asks where I got the information? I can't tell her about the DataWraiths."

"Well, you're a clever, creative men," Edward said, flicking off the paperclip knot. He stood and smiled. "You'll think of something." He gathered his briefcase, earning a cold glare. "Until then, I'm off to nap a bit before my next voyage into the Grid." He saluted the two with his smug grin still on his face before stepping out of the office.

"Edward, wait a second!"

Edward stopped, listened to the frantic clicking of heels along the tile behind him. Eva joined his side a second later. "If this is work related," he said, "it can wait at least - "

"No, it's not," she assured. "I was just..." Eva pushed wine red hair behind her ear, smiled coyly. "... I was just wondering if you're going straight home, or, perhaps, if you'd like to get a bite to eat?"

Edward looked her over. "Won't Seth be a little upset?" he asked. She blinked. "He is rather fond of you, you know. I don't think he'd like it if you and I went on a date."

Eva's cheeks turned scarlet. "Seth what no! No no!" She waved a hand, giggled uneasily. "Seth and I are simply coworkers, and I'm not asking you on a date, no - "

"I'm sure," Edward said, smiled and continued on his way. He was gone before Eva could even realize what had just happened.

* * *

III

* * *

Nearly forty Programs gathered in the dark room, huddled close together. They were of many sizes, genders, some older, some young. What they each had in common were the ugly orange in their circuits and the fatal harnesses hugging their torsos. They nervously looked over one another, each searching for the reason they had been abruptly called to this meeting.

"The answer is clear."

Fear quickly shook the soldiers, and they lined up quickly as their commander entered the room. Malvir cut through the group, stopped at the edge of the room. All attention was strictly on him. "Tron has returned, as you've no doubt heard by now," he said, voice echoing in the giant room. "But he is not our main concern."

He continued, "It would seem our leader has placed a great deal of trust in these Users of fCon. And I fear she may have put us all in grave danger." Malvir looked over the silent, wide eyed crowd. "Users are not to be trusted. I caught the one they call 'Seth' lurking in a zone forbidden to him. I believe he is also responsible for the recent energy fluctuation I detected in the very same area, or at least aware of its origin." He slipped his hands behind his back. "This... Z-Lot virus cannot be trusted. Who is to say it will not be turned on us at the Users' disposals? Such power is dangerous in their hands should we let them do as they please."

One brave soldier shuffled forward. "Then what do you propose we do, sir?"

Malvir looked in his direction. "Though you serve Wisteria first before me, you are all still under my command. You are _my_ men. As such, you should follow my orders and obey me. Thus, I am proposing a possible coup d'état. Wisteria is unwise to continue her dealings with the Users. If I feel she has become corrupted by their ways, we are to remove her from command." He chuckled as a few winced. "Aw, yes, but Wisteria holds the power to your fate, you think. So the idea of betraying her frightens you, logically. But..."

Malvir fell silent, accessing a video image from his disc. It expanded, just enough for everyone to see. A scene played- Wisteria was issuing her guards a command after Tron's return, Malvir reaching and grabbing her wrist. They watched as she snapped at him after he requested to take on the task of security before the video finished.

"You may not have seen it," Malvir said, slipping disc back, "but I deactivated the power of the wrist band that controls your harnesses." A few gasped, mumbling in awe and shock. "If you do not believe me, then perhaps this will persuade you?" The coding of his suit around his wrist retracted, revealing another of the same bands. "I created this weapon, you see. So of course I would make a spare, just in case." He flicked his wrist, opened the window of numbers; instantly the crowd froze up. "And just to make sure I convince any of the remaining skeptics..."

A second later, and one of the Programs up front gave a shrill cry before exploding into a wave of pixels. The crowd gasped and drew back, clutching at their harnesses. Malvir stepped down, grinding his heels into the remains of the soldier. "_So_," he hummed, "you will continue to follow orders and do as you are told. But if I should request you for... other plans of action, you'd be wise to obey."

Not a protest was heard, and the silence passed through the fortress. Deep into the bowels, below where engineering was hard at work repairing the arena. Closed off in one small office away from the scarce few, the door was locked and the lights were low.

Wisteria readied her instruments, making sure everything was accounted for. A moment and her helmet pulled forward, completely engulfing her head. Gloved hands carefully opened the air locked seal of the canister; she took the pair of tongs from the table, slipped them inside. Wisteria carefully removed the object, concealed eyes marveling over the single remain of a pulsating, ugly green and yellow disc shard.

* * *

T/B/C

Regarding Tron's mental stability: as it stands, Tron is functioning fine, but still suffers from minor glitches due to the Rinzler programming working out of his system. His memories as Rinzler are locked. Also, how he was able to get to Genesis just about as fast as the others was answered. It will, indeed, take some time for him to completely heal, but it's established he's well enough to throw himself back into battle. He's stubborn, the moron.

Regarding the portal's time limitations: I got some help from a math whiz friend of mine. Supposedly the portal stays open eight hours real world time, and through calculations, this would be almost two weeks, Grid time. I still cannot say what the exact differences are between the two timelines, but here I've made a few minutes into either half hour to hours. I had written the portal stays open for only a few days, but since it was never specified to Sam in canon how long, I suppose he wouldn't know either and assumed it was shorter.

Smaller notes: Lora's ENCOM username is unknown, so I used LB01, the LB being her initials. When Seth calls to whomever is in the room, he is using hex code for "ally."

Now to address any other questions or concerns:

**Ronnie R15**: It's not impossible for Evo and Tron '82 characters to return. In fact, this chapter hints at one character, though not necessarily returning. I can't say anymore, because you never know, you never know.

**sharinganavenger**: Though I answered in response to your review, I wanted to add this here. Regarding fixing Tron and Sam and still having one up and about. The flight from Genesis back to Divide provided some time, perhaps an hour or so. Considering Kevin can just look at Rinzler and bring him back, if temporarily, to his senses, I figure since he's in Tronzler mode, it won't take too long. And as stated, Tron's still kinda gathering his sea legs. Focusing on Sam would be the immediate task, right? It was. But I can't go into details, really, not without spoiling. For now, just know there was enough time to get Sam stabilized and Tron back on his feet.


	8. Chapter 7

My goodness, has it been almost like a month since I last updated? I thought it was much shorter!

* * *

**CHAPTER 7  
**

* * *

The club was partially empty, though a few Programs frequented the bar. Very few took to the dance floor, with the spirit of the city still too gloomy to catch a vibe. The End of the Line Club remained in ruins, nothing but decaying code and pixels. This time, it would not be rebuilt; Wisteria would not waste the effort and material in its third resurrection. So this tiny club in the corner of TRON City would suffice, though hardly anyone had the energy to enjoy themselves.

The streets were constantly patrolled by Wisteria's guards, keeping everything and everyone in line. Business went on as usual, but not without a pair of scrutinizing, ever vigilant eyes making sure no one stepped out of place. For the most part, many began to relax; order was returning, and soon it would be just as the days Clu reigned. But with rumors of not only one, but _two _Users running around the Grid, no one could really settle comfortably. Not entirely.

The music was low, steady beat, bass causing the walls of the small club to vibrate. Above, a single, giant screen cast a gloomy light over the bar patrons. A notice and newsflash: the games would be starting again. But below the glam and glitz of the shallow, sad little establishment, deep beneath the dance floor where there was nothing but the glow of program circuitry, a nest of fifty to sixty Rebels gathered in a tight circle.

"As you no doubt have heard by now, the games have been reactivated."

Frowns passed along the crowd's faces. Shaddox calmly stood before his soldiers, hands bridged over podium. "Inside source tells us that prisoners are being removed from the brig as well as Deletion and Storage Processing to be subjected to the upcoming games. We should be expecting the first game to be held tomorrow."

"We should make our move then," one Program stated. He shuffled toward the front. "We should raid Wisteria's fortress and Processing to rescue our comrades before they're lost to the games."

"It's too risky," Shaddox disagreed, shook his head.

Another Rebel snorted. "Aren't the guards busying themselves over the incident at Flynn's old portal?" she asked. "I hear the son of the Creator has returned."

"As it stands, the guards have not taken any further action regarding the portal," Shaddox replied, "a few men have been stationed to patrol the area, but do nothing more." He looked over his soldiers. "It is believed that a group of Kernel's men are holed up in the arcade, ready for any attack the guards should attempt."

"Regarding Kernel," another said, "you received a transmission from him recently, did you not?"

Shaddox nodded. "Which is why I have called this meeting," he answered. The crowd fell silent, anticipating. "Though the storm has scrambled some of the message, we were able to decipher the following: The flood from Genesis has moved toward the Sea of Simulation, but has ceased its flow. As of now, its condition is considered stabilized. What was excluded from the report were the reasons for Genesis's collapse, but he has assured me he will report the details as soon as all the information is collected."

"Is he hiding something from us?" someone grumbled.

"Genesis is not our top priority, and the least of our concerns compared to the rest of the transmission," the Rebel leader replied. He took a deep breath, preparing himself. "Tron has returned."

Gasps and shock rippled through the group, questions thrown about in a confusing haze.

"Where has he been?"

"So the rumor of his reappearance at the portal was true?"

"Is he with Kernel now?"

"Again," Shaddox said, "further information was not disclosed."

"If Kernel knows, then he has no right to keep us in the dark!" a female Program snapped. Echoes of agreement followed her. "He cannot withhold such important information from us! Especially if it concerns Tron's return!"

"All in good time - "

A Rebel stomped forward. "Shaddox, no disrespect, but we cannot afford to wait in the shadows much longer," he stated. "We are dwindling in numbers as the micro-cycles pass. We need to act soon - Spring free our comrades from Processing before they're thrown into the games. It's going to take more than a few of us to break through Wisteria's fortress. We need all the help we can get."

"Kernel and the others should join us, as well as Linx's unit," another agreed. "Combined, we are a reasonable, formidable force. If we can free the imprisoned, our numbers would grow by at least forty to forty-five percent!"

"Security has tightened in Linx's sector," Shaddox explained, "and I fear Kernel's headquarters may have been exposed thanks to the incident with Genesis. Not to mention, the portal business..." He shook his head. "We need to establish all the facts with Kernel before we act. Especially regarding Tron and the portal. The son of the Creator, Sam Flynn, has indeed returned alongside another User that is said to be a descendant of Alan-1, or Tron's User. What business they have here remains a mystery, as the rest of the message was indecipherable." The security Program raised a hand before any questions or demands could be made. "I am compiling a reply back to Kernel. I wish to meet up with him and discuss the matters at Divide. Once we know what is happening, and why the Users are here, we can..."

Shaddox trailed off, eyes raised to the ceiling. It was quiet save the usual thumping music. A few glanced about, confused by their leader's sudden silence. A minute later, there came heavy shuffling and movement from above. "... We've been found," he cursed and the crowd startled. He leaped from the small platform, gestured his men forward. "We need to evacuate! We cannot afford to fight and lose any - !" From outside the single door leading to the club above the stairs rocked and shook with commotion. Shaddox darted across the basement. "Come!"

The security Program yanked open an emergency exit to the street, shoving his men outside one by one. They hurried, a few frozen momentarily in horror as the basement door pounded and shook with great force. "Go, go, go!" Shaddox snarled, forcing the stragglers out faster. Nearly half the group had managed to flee before the basement door derezzed, a flock of guards pouring inside with loud roars.

Shaddox readied his katana. "The rest of you, get out!" he ordered. A stubborn few, however, hesitated, quickly equipping their weapons. He had no time to argue, the guards running at them and ready to fight. "Not even a 'hello'?" Shaddox snickered at one corrupted Program, slicing off his arm.

"Shaddox, Shaddox!"

The security Program kept to fighting the guards as the blur of blue appeared above his head. The small byte fluttered back and forth.

"Octet!" Shaddox gasped, sword clashing with a guard's. "Get out of here!"

"But the message - !"

"_This _is the new message!" Shaddox snapped. He winced, seeing one of his men derezzing from the corner of his eye. "Get to Unit 2 and 3!"

Octet flickered. "Right, right, oka - aaahh!" The little byte shrieked as a guard jumped, attempting to snatch him up. "Disgusting, filthy little corruption, don't you touch me!" Octet threw himself at the guard's helmet, knocked him over before fleeing out the emergency exit.

Though initially outnumbered, Shaddox and his remaining soldier had taken out most of the party. Only three guards remained, the groups circling one another. Minutes passed, neither side making an attempt to attack, waiting for room. Shaddox cast a quick glance to one of the guard's legs, noticing its slight limp. A small smile curling on his face, he lunged forward, ducking past the first guard and attacking the limping second.

Shaddox raised his sword, inches from bringing it down on the stunned Program's head. A second later, a yellow, shining blade crossed against his, shoved him back. But it wasn't the guard; Shaddox was thrown off with surprise at the scream and grunt of his comrade, glancing back briefly to see two guards tackling him to the ground. He whipped his head aside, sudden fury mixing with the shock.

Wisteria's eyes smiled at him as she stood before the security Program, sword to his. "You must be the brave and fearless Shaddox," she hummed. She pushed back against the blue blade. "It's a pleasure to finally meet one of the Programs responsible for so much inconvenience."

A second later, and ten new guards stormed into the basement. Shaddox cursed, meant to draw his sword back to retreat. Wisteria moved faster, disc out; she struck quickly, and the security Program screamed, tearing a gash along his free hand. He stumbled back with a furious growl, only to be consumed by a swarm of guards. Shaddox fought and struggled, but was outnumbered and overpowered; a minute later, the Program was shoved onto his knees, hands bound behind his back. He snarled, glaring Hellfire up at the approaching woman.

"I could say the same regarding myself. Causing you so much inconvenience," Wisteria said. She swept a gloved hand to her chest. "I am Wisteria, as you might have guessed."

"You might as well derezz me here and now," Shaddox growled, "I'm not talking."

"I'm afraid it doesn't matter. I'm not going to derezz you," she answered, chuckled. "But that is not set in stone. You may die before I face you in a round myself." Shaddox ground his teeth. "That's right. You and your friends" - she nodded to the heaving Rebel on the floor - "will also be participating in the games. And don't think the others have made it to safety." She gestured around her. "I currently have guards stationed around the entire vicinity. There's a very small chance most of your soldiers escaped."

"Like the Users and Kernel's men at the portal escaped?" the Rebel leader sneered.

Wisteria smirked. "Oh, we'll deal with them. In time," she assured. "In fact, I'm sure by tomorrow, we'll finally meet face to face, Kernel and I." Shaddox narrowed his eyes. "We have raided the second unit outside TRON City all ready. The one led by your friend Linx. All that remains of the free Rebel Programs are those governed by Kernel. Surely he would not allow the demise of nearly three-forth of the Rebel faction?"

It all made sense. This was the fire, and the games would be the smoke. Kernel would have no choice but to attempt a rescue operation now. "You're foolish to believe that you can squash us all in one full swoop, Wisteria. There are others, many others, and as long as you oppress the system, there will always be someone who will try to bring you down."

"You've been running around like a bunch of mindless bits," Wisteria snapped, "and while you have made things difficult for me in the past, you no longer hold equal forces with me." She reached down, took Shaddox by the chin with a tight squeeze. "You are a dying breed. Thousands upon thousands of Grid residents swear loyalty to me, who believed in Clu, and will follow me as I have followed him."

Shaddox jerked his head aside, freeing himself. "Clu believed he had control of the Grid. And for a while, he did," he grumbled. He turned his glare back, met Wisteria's. "But now he's dead and half his army destroyed. What makes you think you can succeed where he failed?" He sneered, darkly. "It took an ISO and two Users to bring down an empire. And if you're in the know of the recent events..."

Wisteria was quiet, sized him up. "It's pitiful," she murmured, "how much you don't know." The glow returned to her eyes. "You think Kernel is the only one with outside help? You think I am not without my own emergency backup?" She snickered, Shaddox twitching as he watched her reach inside her coat. She removed an object foreign to him, but he knew it was nothing good.

Wisteria held up the gun, pressed the barrel to Shaddox's forehead. He refused to flinch, kept eyes locked with hers. Her finger padded at the trigger before the weapon turned on his comrade. Firing, the bullet hit his arm, a shot that was nowhere near fatal. But the Rebel's data began to dissipate at an alarming rate, consumed by twisted tendrils of sickly, putrid yellow and green. His scream was quick before he was gone, leaving nothing but a fading wisp of smoke behind.

Shaddox widened his eyes, horrified. He looked back at the terrifying, alien weapon.

"Not to sound immature, my friend," Wisteria chuckled, "but I've got more Users than you."

The security Program snarled with fury as he was yanked back to his feet. "You won't succeed, Wisteria! You'll fall just as Clu did!" he snapped, three guards having to shove him toward the door.

Wisteria smirked. "We will meet again. In the games, perhaps."

A second later, a guard emerged from the emergency exit. "Milady," he grumbled through his mask receptor, "we have managed to capture twenty-three of the fifty-two escapees. The others won't get far, however."

"The messenger?"

The guard nodded, gesturing over his comrade. The second soldier produced a small florescent box; trapped inside was Octet, howling and furiously beating against the walls. "Let me out, you sons of glitches!" he spat.

"We have not interrogated the bit," the second guard stated. "We - "

"A _bit_!" Octet screeched, turning an angry red. "Do I _sound_ like a bit? Do I _look _like a bit? You ignorant little - "

Wisteria reached out, took the box in her hand. With a gentle squeeze, small volts of electricity stung and zapped the byte inside, forcing him into silence. "Don't worry, my friend," she chuckled, "you won't be in there for long." She tossed the box up, Octet cursing, caught it again. "In fact, we're going to set you free."

Octet calmed with suspicion, a shade of soft blue. "Not that I'd complain," he grumbled, "but why?"

Wisteria held the cube to her face, casting a gloomy white glow in her blue eyes. "We need you to deliver a message, of course," she answered smoothly.

* * *

III

* * *

"Now before we do or say _anything_, we need to air out the room."

Kernel and Kevin looked up, both men sitting beside one another. With at least ten feet of distance between them. Both sets of arms were folded in a pouting gesture, and it was obvious by the atmosphere things had not settled completely. Sam and Quorra sat adjacent of them, like parents about to scold their children and force them to make up.

Kevin sighed and sat back. "Look, man, no hard feelings," he said, smiled weakly at the larger Program. Kernel refused to look at him. "I know you and I... We've never really got off on the same foot in the past. But time's have changed - we both have. So..." He offered his hand. "We bros?"

Kernel glowered at his hand. "What is a 'bros'?" he demanded.

"Brothers. Amigos." The User laughed. "_Friends_. Comrades in arms, if you'd prefer."

The giant Program studied his hand for a moment, then his face. With a grumbling sigh, he reached out, shook it. "As long as you don't get in the way."

"I won't. As long as you don't make any dumb decisions."

"Who is to say my decisions are 'dumb'? Like you can talk."

"I didn't say that, but I mean, you ain't perfect. So we're all bound to mess up once in a while."

"I fail to see how that'll be a problem if you just do as you're told. I've more experience than you."

"Huh? What? Oh, okay, pal. Sure you do."

"You're the one who holed himself up in a cave for cycles."

"You can't hold that against me. And you did very little in way of fixing things while I was 'holed up', you know."

And once more, the two were squabbling like an old married couple, hands flailing and faces suddenly in faces. Quorra just had to chuckle and shake her head, leaving Sam to roll his eyes. "Okay!" he snapped, sitting forward with hands up. The two fell silent, looked back at the boy. "This is getting ridiculous. Will you two just - You know what, don't even talk to one another. Don't even look at one another."

"Careful," the ISO teased, "Sam might send you to separate corners."

Sam cast her a slightly surprised look before settling, taking a deep breath. "We need to _focus_," he pressed. Guilt swept over both Kevin and Kernel's faces, instantly making him feel a little guilty. But no, he wasn't going to cave. "We need to discuss our next plan of action."

Quorra blinked. "Shouldn't the others be here?"

"Does that include Tron?" Kernel snorted. "No. It would not be wise to include him in on our planning. He is not yet completely trustworthy."

Kevin threw up his hands, wanted to rant but remained quiet for his son's sake.

"Let him be. He needs some time alone. If Jet hasn't all ready started bugging him," Sam replied. He studied the group. "We haven't heard anything back from the camp at the portal. This could be a good or bad thing."

"Would Wisteria really attempt to destroy the portal?" Quorra inquired. "Maybe she is like Clu. Maybe she does want to use it to get to the User world."

"We can't say for sure," Sam replied, "but we need to find a way to get the others out of there while also managing to keep the portal secure and safe."

"This... Vulcan," Kevin murmured, stroking his beard, "he can only act upon commands issued strictly by myself?"

Kernel added, "I had one of my men speak to I-No for any possible loopholes, since they are both Tower Guardians and the Program knows Vulcan best." He shook his head. "According to him, there are none. Vulcan will do nothing asked or ordered of him by anyone but Kevin."

"First thing first then is securing the portal," Sam said. He nodded to his father. "Voice activation works - I take it he can verify its legitimacy. That being the case, we'll need a recording of dad's command so that we can take Vulcan back here." He shoved a finger against the floor.

Kevin frowned, but had no chance to speak. Quorra sat forward. "I was thinking," she said, looked between the Users, "your powers are near infinite, correct? What if we used your combined powers to form some sort of... barrier around the portal? The one we have up now won't last long against Wisteria's forces. But if the wall is generated by the power of you both and Jet, there's no possible way for Wisteria to even scratch the surface."

"That might just work," Kevin agreed.

"Would it work with only two Users, do you think?" Sam asked. His father glared at him, but kept quiet.

Quorra bit her lip, hoping not to offend Kevin. "I think it would."

Sam nodded. "All right," he said, "Jet, Quorra, Tron, and myself will go back to the portal to relieve the others and have them return to base." He pointed to his dad. "I'll use a voice command recorded on my disc to order Vulcan to come with us. Since he can open the portal at any time, there's no need for him to guard it. Not like he alone could do so."

Kernel made a small disapproving noise. Sam sighed. "Tron has to go," he insisted, "we need him."

"I hate to sound like a broken record," Kevin grunted toward the giant Program, "but Tron's reliable and you can trust him. He might be suffering from minor glitches, but I can assure you - "

Kernel straightened up. "'Minor' glitches? Do you call him attacking and nearly derezzing me _minor_?"

"He wasn't going to do it, man," the older User insisted.

"You don't know that!"

"I helped to heal him, of course I do!"

"_And continuing_," Sam snarled, breaking through another argument. The two settled back, seething quietly. He glared at Kernel. "You need to send the others a message. Tell them we'll be coming."

"It won't be easy," the giant Program replied. "I sent a transmission to Shaddox two deca-cycles ago explaining the current situation. I would have heard back from him by now."

Quorra frowned. "Do you think it's the storm?"

"It might be," Kernel mumbled. "But with all the recent events..."

Sam stood. "We can't afford to stand idle for long," he said. "Something's off. Something more powerful than Wisteria's going on. And maybe it's 'User instincts', but something doesn't feel right."

Kevin nodded sagely. "Like we're not alone," he mumbled.

"Do you mean to say there might be other Users here?" the ISO asked.

Kernel blanched.

Sam shook his head. "I don't know," he replied, "but like I said, it's just a... gut feeling."

"Your father had a lot of those," the giant Program said, glancing at the older User. Kevin just shrugged and smiled. "I am regretful in saying, most of the time he was right. But not _all_."

"Right," Sam breathed, nodded once. "That settles it then." He looked down at Quorra. "Let's go find Jet and the others. We'll leave immediately."

The ISO climbed to her feet. "And then...?"

Sam thought a moment. "... One step at a time," he said. He plucked his disc from its plug. "I'll stay with dad. Have him record the message."

Kernel and Quorra left a moment later, Sam watching as the door closed. He turned to his father. "I'm still a little new with working these things," he chuckled, offering the disc.

Kevin took it quietly, opened the interface panel. It was a little strange, his silence. Sam meant to ask what was wrong before his father answered.

"You don't plan on taking me with you?" he asked softly.

Sam frowned. "I told you," he pressed, "this is no longer your war."

"It all started because of me," Kevin murmured, flicking through random memories hosted on the disc. He paused on one - Jordan and Sam at the beach, skipping stones along the waves. "It's only just I help to finish it."

"You can't keep doing this to yourself." Sam sighed, and sat again. "You're not... You're not admitting defeat. You're passing on the torch, if you will. And..." He reached out a hand, gently touching his father's. Kevin gazed up from the memory on loop, soft glaze in his blue eyes. "I'm going to see that you get back home where you belong," Sam said and smiled.

Kevin wanted to protest. To argue, fight back, insist he go along. But as he looked upon his son's face, the reality of his desires sucker punched him right in the heart. "Perhaps it's not about responsibilities," he said, voice hushed. Jordan, all grainy and static white, picked up her son and held him to the sky. "It's not about ending what I began. It's just..." He lifted his teary eyes, met his son's surprised gaze. "I don't want to lose you. Once was enough. It took me years to accept I'd never see you again, Sam. So the idea of you possibly... falling in a battle that should have been meant for me..."

"There's a time where you just got to let the kid go," Sam replied quietly. He smiled weakly. "Cut the umbilical cord."

"_Sam_..."

Sam's smile turned cumbersome and he nodded, eyes shifting down. "I know." He tightened his hand around his father's. "And the same goes for me. So you see, no matter what happens, we're always going to be afraid of losing one another. And maybe..." He scratched the back of his head, sheepishly looked up. "Maybe it's time we both started accepting loss and the possibility of never seeing one another again."

Kevin laughed. It hurt a little. "Easier said than done, as you know, kid. But." He handed Sam back his disc. "There's a loophole." His son blinked, slowly took his disc. "We - "

"Sam!"

The door flew open, Quorra rushing inside. Both men looked up, surprised. "We've received a transmission close to base," she breathed, "an SOS. We think it might be a message from Shaddox."

Sam slowly gathered to his feet. "Shaddox?"

"Whoever or whatever sent the message..." Quorra swallowed. "It does not sound good."

* * *

III

* * *

"I would have imagined you'd take longer."

Edward yawned against the back of his hand. "A catnap sufficed," he said. "I'm used to running on low energy, anyway. I'll be fine for at least another nine hours, if I've timed my body's cycle correctly."

Eva chuckled. "We're relieved Seth and Thorne," she explained. The two walked through the massive fortress, guards flanked beside them. "The shipment of supplies is being held in a secure room." Her voice lowered so only her coworker could hear. "We've placed monitors around the area, to make sure no one's decided to play idiot and tamper with them."

Edward nodded. "Good then. Have you spoken to Wisteria?"

"No," she replied. "She's been busy herself. I attempted to speak with her, but that damned bodyguard would not tell me her whereabouts."

"Hmm." Edward narrowed his eyes. It didn't seem like the Program to lock herself away, especially when Users were about. "We should see her soon since you've announced my arrival."

The guards led the two Users back to the conference room. The first thing to catch Edward's eye was the beautiful sight outside the massive window. He slowly lowered his glasses, stepping toward the view. Below, the game arena was aglow and alive, Programs and guards working on fixing all the glitches and loose ends. The stadium was lit up in blue, waiting eagerly for the crowds again. It had been more beautiful than Edward had possibly imagined, and it took him a few seconds to realize his mouth was slightly agape.

"Edward," Eva whispered, tugging his sleeve, "she's here."

The Users turned, watched as Wisteria entered the room, Malvir close behind. "I hope I hadn't kept you waiting," she said, with very little sympathy. "I was prepping for the games, you see."

"Indeed," Edward replied.

"It wouldn't have been without the help of the other User... I do not recall his name," the Program said and took a seat in her throne. "He was able to provide me the coordinates to not only one but two Rebel bases in and around the city. I had suspected their locations, but it seemed he was faster." Her dark eyes flickered and raised, met Edward's. "He still did not provide adequate information as to how he found these bases. As far as I'm concerned, no prior information we collected was leaked to the Users."

Eva turned tense, moving close to Edward. The man just smiled and adjusted his glasses. "It's because some of us have been studying the city very closely outside of work here," he explained. Wisteria quirked a brow. "Our service extends to you in this world as well as ours."

The female Program didn't look too convinced. She was silent a moment, idly tapping fingers against her cheek. Wisteria sat forward. "I see," she said finally, "but gratitude is in order, I suppose. We've captured nearly a hundred Rebels from the two sources alone. Most will be subjected to the games, of course."

"I take it your plan is to smoke the other Rebels out," Edward replied. He strolled over to the Program. "Including the other Users. Sam and Bradley's son, Jethro."

"They won't stand by and let their forces be diminished like this."

Edward nodded. "And what of the portal?" he asked.

Wisteria smiled beneath her mask. "We have that under control. No need to worry," she said. "For now, our main concern is getting the remaining Rebel forces out of hiding."

"It will be messy," Eva added. "You may be organized for an ambush, but surely they'd know your plan and would find other ways in attacking you."

"They've very little in angles of attack besides going straight to the heart," Wisteria insisted. "We'll expect them to raid the brig first, spring any survivors before attempting to save those locked in the games."

Edward stroked his chin. "Do you think they'd execute an attack directly on you next? Or is this simply a rescue operation?"

"_That _would be messy," the Program stated. "To immediately go into war afterward would only hinder more than help. Yet it is a highly likely possibility, if they feel they are confident enough. But that's not to say we won't be ready to fight or take out the more dangerous opponents." She touched the gun holstered around her hip. "I could care less if the prisoners escape. I wish to cut off the main power supply."

Eva smiled wickedly. "Tron and Kernel."

"The two Users as well," Wisteria said. The female User hid a wince. "Tron is a threat, but not nearly as much as a User." Her eyes stayed steady with Edward's. "They won't simply pack their things and leave. Too stubborn, too full of pity and sympathy for this world. So once they've been destroyed, the portal will follow in its wake. No one will be able to use it from then on, exterminating our little... User problem."

Edward chuckled. "Sounds like a wonderful plan," he said. Eva frowned. "Do we have an exact time of execution?"

"As you Users would put it," Wisteria said, "'we strike at dawn.'"

Edward calculated the time between now and then, in both worlds. That would give him plenty of time to rest up. Before he could say anything, Eva gave his sleeve another tug. He looked down at her, brows furrowed. "We need to talk," she whispered, "_now_."

"Something you cannot share with the rest of us?" Wisteria hummed.

Eva glared. "It's fCon related business. There's no need to fret or worry," she insisted. Wisteria glowered back but Edward sighed and moved swiftly out into the hall. Eva cast the female Program one last sour look before chasing after him. Once they were alone, she turned her coworker around and snapped, "Are you out of your mind?"

Edward adjusted his glasses. "Hmm?"

"You were agreeing to _murder _in there," Eva hissed, pointing to the closed conference room. "We can't just - just kill Sam and Bradley's son. That's insane!"

"Well, it's not my first option, no..."

"Edward!"

Edward took her by the shoulders, instantly turning her face a flushed red. "We cannot be held responsible for what happens to them," he said, voice soothing and convincing. "They knew they would face death once they signed onto this war. Besides, if they die here, they simply go missing in reality." He chortled. "Sam, following his father's footsteps. The Bradley kid... Well, who is to say we had anything to do with his 'disappearance'? The Grid, as far as we know, is known only by ourselves - you, Basa, Thorne, Crown, myself - and Sam, Jethro, and Kevin. As we know, Kevin will be no problem."

Eva lowered her voice. "This is dangerous, Edward," she murmured, "we let them die - we _kill_ them - we might be looking at complete, total disaster."

"As long as we have each others trust and swear into secrecy," Edward reassured, "no one has to know." He nodded to a guard at the end of the hall. "We could kill him, and no one in our world would bat an eyelash. He could have a personality, possibly a family - like many of these Programs, much like us humans. But in our world no one knows who he is, and no one would care if he died. If Sam and Jethro die here, there would be no way of information getting out. Not if you all. Stay. Quiet." He squeezed her shoulders for emphasis.

Eva swallowed, but considered his words. It took her a moment to piece the reality together, her chest hitching. "Say this... does get out," she whispered, met his gaze, "then what?"

"The public finds out the sons of Kevin Flynn and Alan Bradley were killed in a virtual reality world while pitted against humanoid, sentient Programs in an attempt to free their digital kingdom from oppression?" Edward sneered. "Who in their right mind would believe such a story?"

Eva frowned.

"Future Control Industries has played dirty in the past," Edward reminded, "and now that the stakes are higher, so are the consequences." He let his hand wander to her rosy red cheek. "Are you prepared to make the sacrifice? Or do you want to turn back now, after all we've accomplished?"

Eva bowed her head, breathed. She looked up a moment later, that twinkle back in her eyes. "No," she said, grinned, "count me in."

"Stop attempting to eavesdrop."

Malvir growled in his throat, slowly turning. "I don't like how that female User reacted to your plan," he grumbled.

"Murder must have the same consequences in their world as it would ours," Wisteria answered. She opened a small panel on the throne's armrest. "But let her fear, let her doubt and question." Gloved fingers closed around circuited control orbs, removing them. "Tomorrow, we will see where loyalties begin and where they end. Who remains faithful, and those who..." She slowly turned the balls in her hands; the circuits brightened, and below, the arena began to shift and transform.

Malvir stared at her in complete silence.

"We'll see," Wisteria hummed, "and I don't expect much of a surprise."

* * *

III

* * *

It took longer than they had hoped to find the source of the weak SOS.

"The storm is getting worse!" Mercury shouted over the howls of the wind, hardly able to see where she was going.

Quorra listened closely for the message's signal. "We can't be that far!" she said. "It's getting louder!"

"Louder, but slower in transmitting! It must be weakening!"

Quorra frowned. She had anticipated that not long ago. Three parties of two had been sent out into the storm to search for the emergency signal. That had been nearly a half hour ago, and yet nothing had cropped up.

The telltale sound of the signal started again - two beeps and a long chirp. "We have to keep searching!" Quorra shouted, shielding her eyes and stumbling. "We can't - !"

The ISO gasped as her foot collided with something hard, sending her spiraling forward. She quickly shoved her arms out, landing on hands and flipping over and back on her feet.

Mercury scrambled over. "You okay?" she asked. "Nice save, by the way!"

Quorra looked down at what had tripped her. Her eyes widened as she spotted what she thought was a rock, only... "I found it! The origin of the signal!" she gasped, squatting and scooping the object into her hands.

Mercury squinted and looked down.

The weak little byte flickered. "Ow," Octet whimpered.

* * *

III

* * *

As soon as Quorra announced their findings, the parties retreated back inside Divide. Tron and Jet emerged around the corner, just as the girls headed for the door. "What's happening?" Tron asked, the two quickly catching up.

"We've got company," Quorra answered.

The four rushed inside the elevator, Tron attempting to hide away from prying, curious eyes. It wasn't long before they arrived back upstairs, Kernel, Sam, and Kevin waiting.

"You have found him?" Kernel asked, ushering them inside.

"Yes," the ISO replied. She held out the tiny byte clutched against her chest. His neutral violet was pale and sickly. "He's in a bad way, I'm afraid."

"Let me see him," Kevin ordered. Quorra crossed the room, depositing Octet in his hands. The User gently turned the blinking byte over, brushed fingers along the bumpy surface. "He'll live. Give me a minute."

Kernel watched as Kevin went about repairing Octet. "That byte," he murmured, "that is... I've seen it before."

"Do you think he hails from Linx? Shaddox?" Mercury asked.

"Shaddox wouldn't send a messenger bit if it was urgent," the giant Program mumbled, "unless there was absolutely no other way to contact me..."

"Byte. Mm'not... bit."

Kevin beamed, turning back to the group. "Am I good or what?" he snickered, placing the recovering byte on a soft pillow.

"Who sent you?" Kernel demanded.

"I- I am Octet," Octet choked. "I serve... Shaddox." He faded into a soft blue. "Well... I did."

The giant Program stormed forward. "What has happened to Shaddox? Why has he sent you here?"

The byte's colors flickered in reminiscent of an inhale and exhale. "Shaddox... Shaddox and Linx have been apprehended. By Wisteria." Shock clutched everyone into silence. "We... don't know how they... found the bases. Ambushed - Only few escaped. All rest captured. I - Shaddox sent me to deliver you updates..."

"Updates? He received my transmission?"

"Most - most of it. Rest scrambled from storm. Maybe. Don't know," Octet grumbled. "Strange things happening. Many strange things. We - we think Wisteria has been getting outside help. Prob-probably from Users."

Sam met Kevin's wary gaze.

The byte dimmed slightly. "But Shaddox... He was not who sent me. Not ultimately."

"How do you mean?" Tron asked, stepping forward.

"I was captured," Octet murmured, "Wisteria... Wisteria freed me. But only so that I may... give you this message." With a pained grunt, the byte continued: "The games have been reactivated. Rebels held in Storage and Processing will not be the... the only ones to fight. Shaddox, Linx, and their men, they will be put in the games as well. She says... She says the total of captives is staggeringly high. Without them, we may have no... no hope in defeating her."

"Frag," Kernel cursed, clenching a fist.

"Tomorrow," Octet said, "tomorrow the first game will be held. If you... value their lives, you will come. Otherwise, all but a handful of them will be derezzed." He flickered. "Those who live will be tortured until they finally reveal... reveal Divide's location." He turned a bright, frightened red. "I couldn't tell her! If I tried, if she l-let me - But she said, she said she wouldn't, that if - if I did - !"

Kevin placed a hand gently on the byte. "No one blames you." Octet moaned. Kevin looked firmly up at the others. "Wisteria's given us no choice."

Kernel was shaking with rage. "We cannot - we cannot simply walk into this trap," he growled, "but I cannot allow my comrades to be slaughtered...!"

"If all of Divide were to go," Quorra asked, "would it be enough to fight?"

"We're outnumbered without Shaddox and Linx's men," Mercury mumbled. "We wouldn't stand much of a chance."

Jet stepped forward. "But as Users, we've got more of an advantage, right?"

"If what Shaddox theorizes is correct," Tron said, "then Wisteria has Users as well."

Sam took a deep breath. "This seems like a no win situation," he grumbled, "but... If we manage to free the others, our numbers go up. So, it should be nothing but a rescue operation. Engage with enemies only when necessary."

"We will need every available hand to fight this battle," Tron insisted, "everyone from Divide must go, save any civilians incapable of fighting."

Kernel growled, "You think I'm not aware of that, Tron?"

The Octet flushed. "T-Tron?" he breathed. "Tron's here? _Alive_?"

The security Program knelt beside the byte. "More or less," he said.

The byte turned in his pillow. "You... bear the patterns. The 'T'. But so did Rinzler," he mumbled, "Rinzler - He wore it to mock us. To show the Grid our hero has fallen." He turned a happy violet-red. "But you have returned! Erase the memories of Rinzler from the minds of the people. Remind them what those circuits once stood for."

Tron frowned, but forced a smile quickly. "No problem, friend," he chuckled.

"If Tron is alive, then you are no figment of my damaged database," Octet said, turning to Kevin. "Flynn, the Creator. But you should be dead! And - " He rolled back. "Oh my User, there is - there are two _other_ Users here! This entire room is - Am I in a temple!" He shook. "Maybe I did derezz out in that storm and this is the after-Grid!"

Kevin laughed. "Nah, kid, you're alive and kickin'," he assured.

"With three Users - With Tron - I'm certain Wisteria will choke on her pride!" the byte cackled before groaning and settling. "With or without Users, you - Kevin Flynn, Sam Flynn, you who took out Clu and half his army - Surely, surely you'll succeed! Especially if you can save the others!" He rolled in Jet's direction. "No offense, I don't know what you can do, but if you're a User, certainly it must be all powerful!"

Kernel snorted, "Why should we wait until tomorrow? Why not strike now before we can lose anyone to the games?"

"She is not afraid to kill them all at once if you do that," Octet mumbled, "trust me, she knew you might consider this. Hence, she's probably prepared for an attack at any time."

Quorra tapped a finger to her lips, thought a moment. "Octet," she said, and the byte flickered, "did Wisteria tell you she was working with Users?"

"No," Octet sighed, "just told me to... 'extend this invitation'." He scowled.

Kernel growled. "We leave in a few meta-cycles," he ordered, all eyes falling on him, "by the time we reach TRON City, the games will just be starting."

Mercury nodded. "Should we ready the others then?" she asked.

"I leave that task to you. Gather and prep them," the giant Program said, earning a head tilt. His red eyes turned to Tron. "I have some matters to discuss with my old 'friend'."

The security Program narrowed his eyes. "That you cannot tell me here?"

Kevin nudged Tron in the arm. "Just go with it," he chortled. "You never know," he said, watched as the giant Program slipped out of the room, "he may just want to talk."

Tron narrowed his eyes. "Kernel never wants to 'talk'," he mumbled but followed the Program out.

Quorra waited until they were were gone before looking back to Kevin. He nodded and she smiled before leaving the room.

Mercury turned to Jet. "I might need some help," she said, chuckled, "mind lending a hand?"

Jet beamed. "Well, ain't got nothin' else to do right now," he replied, hoisted his rod baton.

And then there were three.

Sam sighed and ran a hand through his short hair. "You'd think it all ended with Clu..." he muttered.

"The domino effect would have been nice," Kevin agreed. He touched Octet, the small byte resting in stand-by. "But unfortunately, wars never end so clean and quick."

Sam nodded. "I think I should go practice a bit," he said, moving to the door, "you know, so I can be prepared for possible death tomorrow."

"Sam."

The young User stopped, glanced back at his father. Kevin looked over the small byte, something powerful reflected in his eyes. Sam twitched. "What is it?" he asked.

"I don't know what it is," Kevin said quietly, gaze meeting his son's, "but the Grid is changing. And in a way I cannot yet fathom."

Sam blinked. "Well," he said, smiled wryly, "hopefully it's in our favor."

* * *

III

* * *

Kernel and Tron walked in silence through an emptier part of the tower.

Tron watched the taller Program's back closely. The tension was nearly suffocating. But Kernel said nothing, did not glance back at him once since they left the room. For someone who claimed Tron was still unstable and could not be trusted to walk ahead without constantly worrying he was open for attacks... It was suspicious, but the smaller security Program said nothing. He knew, even if Kernel distrusted him, he was in no real danger.

The two arrived at a door, Kernel opening it with a single hand press against its surface. He glanced over his shoulder, Tron catching the strange glow in his narrowed eye before he stepped inside. Tron followed quietly, looked back as the door clicked shut. They were in a large, empty room now, the ceiling above translucent and streaked with lights of blue. He could not see the sky, however, suggesting there was another room or second ceiling above.

"I suppose apologies are in order."

Tron blinked and looked forward. Kernel had moved across the room, turning and standing directly adjacent of him. He crossed hands behind his back, stance like the perfect soldier as he studied the smaller Program.

Tron cracked a small smile. "Well," he said, "I think we both owe a couple."

Kernel tilted his head, just slightly. "What is the last thing you remember?" he asked. "As Rinzler."

The name sent a boiling sensation in Tron's chest. "... I," he breathed, "I remember only glimpses. Of what happened in Genesis."

"And before Genesis?"

Tron frowned. "Nothing," he confessed. It meant nothing, however, just made it worse. "I can't remember... anything."

Kernel remained calm. "That's very convenient, you know."

The smaller security Program flinched. "I would not lie about such serious matters," he insisted. "As much as... As much as I wish I didn't, I want to remember."

"Is that so? Or are you just saying that to make yourself sound good and righteous?"

Tron felt the foreign rage build slowly inside him. His circuits flashed. "These apologies you mentioned," he grumbled, "I suppose they're all to come from me?"

"Did I say that?" the giant replied. It was strange; usually, he was hotheaded in his rebuttals, quick to yell about 'not putting words in his mouth'. But Kernel was remaining eerily calm. And that sense of safety started to fade inside Tron. The taller Program stepped forward, nearly causing the smaller man to jump. "I assume you remember how you nearly killed Sam Flynn, correct?"

Tron swallowed. "Yes."

"Yes, but do you know what specific occasion?" Kernel replied. The security Program blinked. "You nearly killed him twice, you know, if the stories are true. Once in Genesis and before that, in the games."

"The games?" Tron repeated. "I was... I was participating in those games?"

"You were the star champion," Kernel said, nodding. "No one could defeat you. And those who tried never survived."

The rage became sickening at the idea... Champion? If he was champion, that had to mean... Tron clutched at his chest, the 'T' circuits flickering beneath his fingers.

"That's right," Kernel continued, "the number of Programs you've derezzed... No one quite knows. But you can imagine, I'm sure."

Tron's fingers dug into his chest. "It wasn't my fault," he mumbled, voice hardening. He felt dizzy almost, knees shaking. So many deaths by his hands, and in the games _alone_... What Clu had him do _outside _the arena, that...

"No, it wasn't your fault," Kernel said, paused, "I suppose." Tron whipped his head up, glared in shock. "Many of us never for once believed Rinzler was the reprogrammed Tron. Even with your same design and circuit patterns." He held out a hand, chuckled. "We were foolish to believe that someone as strong and powerful as Tron would never succumb to any re-purposing. Many of us believed you died, some believed you even ran away - Never did we think that _you_, once so gallant and heroic, would turn into that cold killing machine." His fingers curled into a gentle fist. "I have to wonder if you tried to fight back, or if you gave into the reprogramming without struggling."

"Why would I agree to being reformatted, Kernel!" Tron spat, stomping forward. He was almost shaking now. From an anger that did not belong to him, not in the past, not until he - "You think I would willingly become such a monster? You think I would sit back and let them frag my databanks?"

"I don't know, did you?" Kernel asked. "Can you even remember?"

Tron didn't know what to say. He was both disgusted and speechless. This couldn't be real. This had to be a glitch in his circuitry. This entire conversation was mad and insane and _how could Kernel think that_.

"You need not worry about me," Kernel reassured, "I personally don't think you had a choice. But the others..." He looked to the ceiling. "The others will have their doubts. They will suspect you were willing, that you happily submitted to Clu. Because many have not had the pleasure of knowing you so closely as I have." He shrugged. "Who's to say they won't think someone so powerful wouldn't side with the man with the upper hand? You're known as a very proud Program, Tron, perhaps your pride felt better siding with Clu?"

"It's not true!" Tron snapped.

"How will you convince them otherwise? The soldiers below, who believed so much in you? How will you convince them that someone they saw nearly as invincible as a User would so easily be re-purposed and turned into the Program that took out nearly half of their comrades, their friends?" Kernel demanded. He could see the sharp flare burning in the smaller Program's circuits. "Perhaps showing fear, falling to your knees and weeping for their mercy will show them you are no god, and even you, the mighty Tron, have your times of _weakness_."

Tron pushed his fingers into his forehead. His head was pounding, the noise drowning out Kernel's voice little by little. He wanted to tell him to stop, to shut up, but he had - he had to hear this and yet, all he wanted to do was take his disc and -

"You fell, Tron. Do not expect anyone to think of you as a hero ever again."

Tron's hand moved fast, reached back and took the disc from its plug. Like a silent predator, he ran at Kernel, eyes and circuits ablaze, helmet concealing his face. The larger Program waited until he was at least five feet away before he removed his disc, letting it clash with Tron's. The two jumped back, ran forward, discs meeting again and again.

Kernel nearly knocked the disc from his opponent's hand with his massive force, but Tron held tight and jumped back. He tossed the sphere with stunning and wicked grace, the giant throwing himself aside as it cruised past him, back around. Tron caught it, spun out of Kernel's wave of attack as he thrashed the disc down where he once stood. The larger Program slid back, missed a slice along his shoulder; he threw it at him, only for Tron to leap up and over him.

The giant Program spun around, caught his disc and shoved it against Tron's. With a snarl, the smaller Program pushed back; however, Kernel's weight and strength overpowered his own. He felt his feet slip back as he was pushed, their discs flickering light as they crushed against one another. Finally, Tron yanked his weapon back with a hiss and streak of blue, arm thrown back before sending the disc at Kernel's abdomen. The giant quickly blocked the disc, forced to bend to do so, giving Tron enough room to grab his disc quick and thrust it against Kernel's shoulder.

Kernel stumbled back with a scowl, touched the small, sparking cut. Tron ran at him again, throwing his disc mid-way. The larger Program intercepted it, cracked it beneath the squeeze of his giant hand before throwing it across the room with a loud grunt. Tron watched it fly, bury itself deep into a wall. He cursed, grabbed a baton quickly from his belt.

The light of the blue blade hissed to life, and the security Program leaped forward, sword raised. Disc and blade collided, but not for long, Tron jumping back and darting around his comrade. He never stopped once, moving too quick for the giant. His size gave him poor agility, and for Tron, it was easy to get in strikes. However, most of his hits were met with the disc; either he was going too slow, or Kernel now managed to find a way to keep up.

Both weapons hit hard, releasing a blast of powerful energy. It knocked them back with blinded surprise, both disc and sword clattering to the ground. They looked up, met gazes as the light faded before Tron rolled forward, jumped up and struck Kernel beneath the chin. The giant Program screeched and stumbled back, giving his head a quick snap to the side. He smiled, nonetheless; if this was how they were going to play, Tron would need to be faster.

Kernel ran forward, threw down a fist. Tron jumped aside, watched the fist collide with the ground. Beneath its weight and pressure, the ground cracked, forming a small hole. Enough force to knock his head near off his shoulders. However, unafraid, he ran in for another hit.

Above, a small glow of light went on ignored by the fighting pair.

Mercury slowly stepped into the room, walking along the glass floor. "Kernel?" She had picked up his energy signature somewhere near here. But the room was empty. "Kernel, the troops are - " Her blue eyes caught a flash and she looked down, watched as Tron went skidding along the floor from one of Kernel's heavy blows in the room below.

"Frag!" she cursed, hand against helmet.

"Did you find them?"

A moment later, Quorra stepped into the room.

"Eyup," Mercury sighed and gestured to the floor.

The ISO looked down, gasped. "What - Why are they fighting?"

"I wouldn't worry about it," Mercury chuckled. She bit her lip, unsure. "At least, not right now..."

Tron quickly rolled onto his side, back to his feet, missing another strike. He sprinted to his feet, turned and slammed hand against Kernel's throat. The giant Program grunted, rubbed his sore neck before throwing a fist back. It was dodged for the third time, Tron using his agility to its max potential. But when he attempted to strike him from behind, Kernel ducked and let his fist meet the smaller Program's side. Tron grunted and fell back, hands clutching his throbbing hip.

"Shouldn't we stop them?" Quorra fussed.

"No," Mercury replied, quietly, "I think..." She placed a hand to the ground, just above Tron as he slumped in place, taking a second to rest. "This is for the best."

"Give up," Kernel spat. He wiped pixels from the new wound on his chest. "You're still too weak from your battles earlier. And you've obviously shown you are still too unstable."

Tron growled, back into battle. He threw fist after fist, Kernel blocking them with arms pinned in front of him like a shield. He faltered once, earning a hit to the chest, before backhanding the smaller Program across the face. Tron grunted, managed to collect his balance before crashing into the ground. "And to think!" Kernel chortled and shook his head. "I had begun to trust you again!"

Reviving that trust seemed farther and farther from Tron's mind as he struck him again.

"He's right," Quorra stated, moving to the door, "Tron's still too weak to fight. At this rate - "

Mercury reached out and took her by the arm. The ISO glanced back, confused and slightly annoyed. "No," she insisted. She smiled slightly. "Trust me. It'll end soon."

At this point, the fight was turning feral. Whatever beauty and intelligence used in battle was gone now. Two animals fighting, for reasons they might as well have long forgotten. They struck at one another-punched, kicked. The two spectators worried they'd soon be clawing and biting soon, but they stayed put. Quorra reluctantly so.

But even in a mindless rage, Tron still retained some grace. The two collided, a mess of wounds and spilling pixels, cuts along Kernel's face and a crack in Tron's helmet, showing one burning blue eye. The giant gave him a hard shove, only for the smaller Program to take his hands, jump and thrust his heels against the larger Program's stomach. He let go, Kernel falling back; he leaped on him, knocked him into the floor.

Quorra opened her mouth to protest, only to bite her tongue when Kernel flipped Tron over, fist raised for his face. Tron grabbed it, grunted as he forced it aside. With another slip, he rammed elbow into Kernel's head, knocked and pinned him down again. The cycle continued, neither dominating one for too long. It was all a blur, moving too fast, and the two above could hardly keep up.

Tron went down with a slam, Kernel's face lingering above him. "Give up," the giant Program snarled, "you have _failed_! There is no saving you." He closed his large hand around Tron's head, as if to crush. "You have become corrupted."

The word - something in that word. A spike of adrenaline rushed through Tron, sudden and frightening. A voice flooded his mind, ringing loud like church bells.

_"You've become corrupted!"_

Visions and images ran past his mind's eye, foreign and yet familiar. The figure in black and yellow charging after Kevin, only for himself to pounce on and knock him to the ground. Telling Kevin to run until he was thrown over, a disc raised to his face, falling swift -

Kernel screamed as his arm was nearly broken in the powerful grasp, forced up and away from Tron's head. The pain increased as he was forced over, arm now pinned against his back. The only warning was the soft hiss of energy before the blade of his own light katana was held inches from his face. He stared, but there was no fear.

"This is it," Mercury breathed, stepped back.

"You were right."

Kernel blinked.

"I am no hero."

With a swish, the light katana disappeared and Tron let go of his arm. Kernel grumbled and rolled to a sit, assessing the damage. "But I don't want to be a hero," Tron said, standing before him. The blade disappeared and he tossed the baton into the larger Program's lap. "I honestly cannot remember my time as Rinzler. And I am being honest when I also say I wish I did. I hope, in time, I will."

The damaged helmet folded back away, revealing Tron's face. There was a solemn glow in his once blazing eyes. "I know I won't win back the trust I once had. Maybe never from you, and it does disappoint me, more than you'll ever know," he said softly. With just a little effort, the disc obeyed its master's mental command, managed to free itself and rejoin him. Tron grabbed the disc, finger tracing the crack. "Not everyone will believe in me, as you said. When they discover I was Rinzler, I may as well still be Rinzler to them."

Tron put his disc back in its plug for now. He looked down at Kernel, watching him quietly. "But as long as I can help to return the Grid to its former glory, I don't care," he said. He held out a hand. "So, you can hate and distrust me all you want, but I'm not abandoning you or the others. I'll see this war to its end, even if it means my demise."

Kernel eyed the hand before the features on his face suddenly softened. He took his hand and let Tron help him up.

Quorra breathed a sigh of relief.

Mercury tittered, "Kernel sometimes believes force can solve just about anything."

"Your blows - none were fatal, you know," Kernel said.

"Nor were any of yours." The smaller Program chuckled. "To think, we were both holding back. What a force we make, the two of us."

"Kevin said the same," Kernel replied, let go of Tron's hand, "when we first fought together. 'A dangerous duo of death'."

Tron smirked. "Flynn is all about the dramatics."

Kernel nodded. "My trust in you... It will take some time," he explained. "But... I believe you are my ally."

"I fight for the Users, and for us," Tron insisted.

Kernel placed a hand on his shoulder. "Mercury should have the troops ready by now," he said, "we should go."

"Do you think it'd be wise to tell them now? About how I got here, where I've been?"

Kernel shook his head. "No," he insisted, "not for this mission. We will tell them the truth behind your return soon. But for right now, we need everyone to be settled and sound in mind. I have a feeling this will turn into something more than rescue operation."

"Yes," Tron agreed. "Suppose we should get patched up first, though."

"You care."

Tron blinked.

"When you said you don't care what others thought or will think of you, as long as you save the Grid," the giant replied calmly, "you do care. You value their trust in you, more than you could ever imagine." His hand squeezed gently. "And I hope with that, the others will know it wasn't your fault."

Tron grinned weakly. "Perhaps you're right," he said. "But right now, it's not their approval I want. Just their cooperation and strength." He chuckled. "If I have won at least some of your trust," he said, placed a hand on Kernel's, "then the others will be a breeze, my friend."

Kernel gave a half-amused laugh before forcing Tron ahead and to the door.

"Things are looking up."

Quorra smiled. "I just hope it stays that way."

Mercury snickered. "Think we should get Kevin and Kernel to duke it out so they can get over all their bickering?"

"Oh, absolutely not."

* * *

T/B/C

**A/N**:

Octet is based loosely on Byte from Tron 2.0.

As always, thanks for all your reviews and concrit!


	9. Chapter 8

One year ago, I posted the first chapter of my _TRON: Revolution_ fanfic, a sequel to _TRON: Legacy_ borrowing themes from _TRON 2.0_. I have not yet finished it, but I did mention wanting to complete it. I had a chapter half-written sitting dormant for months, but now, I have finished it. Since I do plan to finish my original novel, I decided on the side, I'd finish this baby, too.

Upcoming chapters will feature more action, so I won't promise updating this as fast as I did before. I have A LOT of action sequences to write in my original novel as is. But, hopefully, I'll be moving back into the groove of this, instead of staying on hiatus for months like before.

It's been quite a long time since an update, but I did not forget. Thanks to all of you who have stuck around. :) A happy New Year too everyone!

* * *

Chapter 8

* * *

The tension rippled through the Grid like a quiet storm. One could almost _see_ it, as if it were a ghostly, foreboding shadow. No Program was immune to the uneasy, haunting atmosphere. Whether this implied great things to come, or a doom that would swallow them all whole.

News was immediately released, flashed on every screen within the Grid of the upcoming game. All but one group of Rebels had been detained and now awaited their fate on the game field. Everyone was invited to view the spectacular event. Not only would the prisoners be competing, but so would Wisteria and her mysterious new friends. As far as the general public knew, the only Users within the Grid were Sam and the son of Alan Bradley, Creator of Tron. Even then, most were ignorant to their presences among them.

There had been no mention that the invitation had been extended to one other party. If people knew the remaining Rebels were to attack and attempt to free their companions, no one would have dared step foot in the stadium. They did not wish to be caught in all the chaos. It was a fragile time now that Clu and Flynn were dead. Clu might have ruled with an iron fist, but at least he kept things in line; at least his manipulations were strong enough to ease the people and maintain order.

Wisteria was smart, but she was blunt. She found no need to hide the fact the Grid was in an era between destruction and revolution. There would be many more cycles before the system returned to the glory brought by the hands of their previous dictator. However, much like Clu, in order to attain the perfect system, Wisteria was not afraid to sacrifice innocent lives.

Yet, something about her announcement for tomorrow's game seemed to dawn a hopeful light on the Grid. Wisteria spoke as if something great were to happen. Something that was not included in her transmissions. It managed to lure people in, struck fire to curiosity, and no doubt most everyone, those of all classes and functions, would turn up to see what powerful event was to unfold.

"Oh no. Don't you give me that look."

Kevin had been busy preparing himself for the flight tomorrow. He had cleaned up well; clean shaven and dressed in a suit he hadn't worn for ages. As he was flexing his arms for practice throws, disc in hand, Sam entered his chambers. Kevin looked up immediately, saw the solemn, fixed gaze on his face.

"Your mother used to give me that look whenever she disagreed with me," Kevin snorted. He wagged a finger. "Thing is, she had a prettier face, so it actually worked."

Sam sighed. "So you really aren't going to reconsider?"

"Nope."

"You can still back down."

"Nah."

The younger Flynn shook his head and approached his father. "Fine, you win," he scowled. Kevin beamed victoriously before Sam took him tightly by the shoulder. "But you got to promise me you'll stay out of harm's way. If you must fight, I want you to work alongside Tron or with a group, okay?"

"Sam - "

"_Promise _me."

Kevin frowned, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and mouth crinkling. Sam was not going to back down, not this time. With a groan, the older man pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "Okay, okay," he grumbled.

"Promise?"

Kevin couldn't be angry. His son was only trying to protect him. Sam knew he wasn't who he used to be. That, and Sam had lost his father not once, but twice now. Before, the boy had been excited to fight alongside him. Now the roles were reversed - Kevin wasn't fragile, he felt almost like a child, but he could empathize. He, too, wished Sam would not fight, that no one fight, but he also understood there was no way he could stop him. They were both too stubborn.

Sam just wanted to keep his father and protect him. Kevin smiled, somewhat sadly. He reached out, clamped a hand on his son's shoulder. "I promise," he said, quiet and sincere.

The younger User studied his face, as if looking for any deceit. However, he saw and heard only honesty in his father. Sam smiled slowly and slapped his back twice. "Try not to break a leg, old man," he sneered, "you'll have to program yourself up a wheelchair."

Kevin snorted and rolled his shoulders forward. He thread fingers down the front of his jacket, gave his collar a pop. "Just step back," he hummed, chin held high, "and watch the Master work." With that, he strolled past his snickering son.

* * *

III

* * *

"The schedule, milady."

Wisteria glanced up from her drink as Rome gave her the datapad. She scanned it quickly before setting it on the translucent table. Giving the Program a nod, he quickly scuttled out of the room, leaving Wisteria alone with shadowy guards (Malvir standing statuesque behind her) and three Users. At the far end of the table sat Edward, fingers steepled; alongside him, Eva and Seth. The table was decked out with a feast, most of the dishes human food.

"Does it satisfy you?" Wisteria asked, eyes fixed on the youngest User. "We took all available data to best imitate your User meals."

Edward glanced down at his place. "It is a little stale," he said, smiled at the slight twitch in her brow, "but I appreciate the effort." Eva had tried a bite of the croissant, paused and discreetly deposited the mouthful in a napkin. Edward held out his hand. "So, Rome has brought the gaming schedule."

"Correct," Wisteria replied. Holding it up, Malvir took the 'pad and headed down the end of the table. Edward could sense the tension and distrust flaring in the silent guard's circuits as he handed it over and returned to his post. The young User looked through the scheduled fights.

"Is it to your liking?"

"Everything seems to be in order. You've set up the rounds and levels quite nicely. Like a professional," Edward replied. "But." With a tap of his finger on the datapad, he said, "I can't help but notice there's a blank spot labeled RESERVED here."

"I didn't want to schedule a round should you turn it down," Wisteria answered. The User cocked his brow and Seth stiffened in his seat. "Yes, I was wondering if you'd like to participate in a duel with me." She took a swig of her goblet of liquid diamonds, careful not to reveal her face as she tugged down her mask ever so slightly.

"Are you proposing a _life or death_ game with Mister Dillinger?"

Wisteria swished a hand. "Of course not," she said. "It would be harmless. Not a fight to the death." She grinned beneath her mask. "I thought it might be an entertaining interval for our guests. They do so love surprises."

"Well, as long as we aren't going to kill one another," Edward chuckled. He and the Program met eyes, passing more than amusement. "I don't see why not." He shrugged and leaned back in his seat.

Eva gave him a surprised look. "Do you even know how to fight in these games?"

"I may not entirely look it," Edward said, hands to his chest, "but I'm a bit of a gamer myself." He smirked. "I was a designer and game consultant before I joined the crew of ENCOM."

Wisteria's brows lifted. "You worked for ENCOM?" she asked. "The same company that created Tron and the old system?"

"One in the same," Edward boasted, "and though ENCOM has since lost interest in the gaming market, I still know a thing or two." He smiled at Eva. "Despite my opinions of Kevin Flynn, I was a fan of his work."

"But this is more than just a game, Edward," Eva grumbled, "this is..." She didn't know what to say, too shocked.

Wisteria sat forward. "So then, we have a deal? You will compete against me on the game field tomorrow?"

"If Flynn and the others don't arrive before then, yes. I will go a round with you."

Seth's fork clattered on his dish and he stood. "Excuse me," he mumbled then glared down at Edward, "I'd like a minute alone with Mister Dillinger, if you don't mind?"

Wisteria fluttered a hand and the two stepped out of the room. She looked over at Eva, who was staring apprehensively at the rest of her food. "You seem to carry a certain... personal concern over your employer," the Program noted. "I detect that you may like him more than a coworker...?"

Eva bolted upright in her seat, face flushed. "Mister Dillinger is an excellent man, a genius in his field," she sniped, "and I respect and admire him on a completely professional level _only_."

Wisteria smirked. "Of course," she hummed then gestured to the tray of rolls, "please, try the... croissants? That is the correct term, I assume?" Her eyes seemed to smile at the flustered User. "I haven't seen you take a single bite."

"You're insane."

Edward and Seth faced one another the moment they were safe from prying eyes and ears. "Am I?" Edward replied. "That may explain the fact we are inside a computer talking with sentient programs."

"We can't trust Wisteria," Seth hissed, "you know that as much as I."

"Of course."

"She might pull some stunt on you," he insisted, "Lord knows these... 'people' would love to see User blood spilled again."

Edward chuckled. "She is not the only one with tricks up her sleeve."

Seth frowned. "I hope these tricks of yours are something you've shared with us." He inched forward. "Your loyal employees."

"You have nothing to worry about, Crown," Edward insisted. "I've got this under control."

"She's _dangerous_, Edward."

"She's also naive," Edward added. "With just a couple flicks of my wrist, I could reprogram her into a cat." He laughed. "Wouldn't that be something?"

"You forget she's got that guard dog always following her," Seth mumbled. "I think he's up to something. He doesn't like us, and it seems he doesn't like Wisteria's ideas either." He looked down the long, empty hall. "Might try to pull something tomorrow, too."

"Malvir? He'll be no problem." Edward gave Seth's arm a soft pat. "I appreciate your concern, but everything will be fine. Eva's all ready fussed over me enough as it is."

Seth twitched at the mention of his coworker. "Not to be disrespectful, sir, but my concern lies with the entire project," he grumbled. "One slip up, and everything we've built will fall to ruin."

Edward sneered. "If you think I need protecting, then have one of your Wraiths nearby. In case anything should go wrong, which it won't." He tilted his head down the corridor. "We had better get back in there. Wisteria's probably making Eva terribly uncomfortable."

* * *

III

* * *

The group decided to spend the rest of their free time resting. Divide was quiet as everyone slumbered. Mercury and Quorra in a separate room, Sam, Kevin, and Jet in another. Kernel and Tron had ventured off to their own chambers, perhaps to rest, perhaps to practice. Sam and Jethro were sound asleep, Octet snug in his pillow.

Kevin, however, decided to relax another way.

Silently, the old User sat across the room. He kept as quiet as possible, which was easy. Kevin was meditating, sitting in the typical Siddhasana position, palms up on his knees. The world was slipping far away into a distant land. A place where he felt nothing; a state of painless ennui. His eyes fluttered gently beneath his lids, relaxing as the images playing in his mind's eye began to fade.

"Cripe - !"

Kevin's eyes opened and he caught a flash of black and blue. Turning slightly, he and a ruffled Jet met eyes.

Jet was hunched forward. "Oh, I'm sorry, did I break your meditation?" he whispered. "I was just getting a drink and I almost tripped on that damn byte." He waved a hand. "Um, sorry, continue."

Kevin just smiled and turned away. He slipped easily back into his meditative state. About ten minutes later, without moving or opening his eyes, he smirked, "You can talk to me if you can't sleep."

A second later, and Jet sat up from his makeshift bed. He frowned and debated a moment. A minute later, he was kneeling beside the older Flynn. "Guess I'm just too anxious," he tittered, trying to keep quiet.

Kevin inhaled, exhaled before slowly opening his eyes. He looked to young man beside him. He could see Alan and Lora so clearly in his face. Jet had his mother's eyes. "I think I've just realized," he breathed, "just how long it's been." He smiled. "To see you this big, all mature, from the gaped toothed brat with Lora's nagging whine and Alan's insufferable smarts."

Jet laughed before clearing his throat. Sam stirred, but nothing more. "Yeah, well, I'm just as shocked to see you, Uncle Flynn," he said, "or should I call you grandpa now?"

The two shared quiet laughter before settling again.

"How have Lora and Alan been doing?"

"Mom's still working for the same company after she left ENCOM. She was promoted about a year ago to CTO," Jet explained. "We were actually visiting for the weekend. She wanted to discuss this new program her and I were collaborating on with dad. The Ma1a."

A chuckle. "You followed in your parents' footsteps, I see."

Jet shrugged. "My dad hasn't changed much either. We've both been busy the past couple months, so we haven't talked in a while. But I still call and email him."

"Still a stick in the mud?"

"He's loosened up some."

Kevin nodded and though the question lingered in the air, he did not speak it. Jethro could sense it anyway. He chuckled. "They think about you. Quite often," he said. Kevin kept his gaze on the window. "Dad tells me stories about you all the time. The things you two did while you were running ENCOM. Your whacky ideas and even one office Christmas party that almost ended with the both of you spending a night in jail." He had expected the older man to remember and guffaw, but Kevin just shut his eyes, his smile growing just slightly. "Mom... Not so much. I think... after you... disappeared... She didn't handle it very well." Jet looked down into his lap. "We only spoke of you once or twice after it happened. But the last time, which was shortly before I graduated college, she told me she wished you could have been there with Sam to see me graduate. Said that you'd probably be like the crazy uncle and cause some sort of uproar during the ceremony."

Kevin chuckled. "She's probably right," he said. "If I had been there for Sam's, I know I'd..." He paused, glanced at his hands. "... I'd probably be sobbing like a big baby. Too old now to deny it. I'd be a big blubbering mess."

Jet sat back. "Sam's grandparents recorded his high school graduation ceremony," he said. "There's this moment after Sam gets his diploma, he stops and does this hilariously bad dance on stage. It was terrible. But it was enough to get a few girls asking him out afterward." He nudged Kevin in the arm. "When you see it on video, _when you return home_, you'll laugh your ass off, I'm sure."

Kevin laughed. "I'm sure it'll be hilarious."

"He hasn't seen the full video. He doesn't know we caught a special moment on tape." Jet's tone was hushed. The older Flynn glanced at him. "It was the after party. We all went out for some drinks. Sam went outside to get some air. I took a bottle of beer from one of our pals and the camera, went out to prank him and pour the beer all over his fancy-smancy gown." His smile relaxed. "Instead I found him sitting at the edge of the sidewalk, admiring his diploma. And you know what he said?"

"What?"

"'This is for you, dad.'"

Kevin almost lost it there. His eyes began to water, and the power to hold back his sorrow and bitterness was almost drained. Jet could see his eyes glisten, even as he tried to remain smiling. He placed a hand on his back. "Maybe I'll finally show it to Sam," he said and looked out the window, "once we all get back home."

Kevin sighed and chortled, swung his arm over the younger User's shoulders. "You definitely are Alan and Lora's kid."

* * *

III

* * *

The deadline hit like the rising sun in a world far from their own.

Kernel and Mercury began herding their men, directing them to the Light Jets and Runners. A few could take the handful of tanks they had managed to steal from previous battles, the rest with their light cycles. It was all hustle and bustle, a mixture of fear, anxiety, anger, and hope. The desire to end this madness once and for all was strong. Fortunately, most of the Rebels were of high hopes, now that their hero Tron had returned and they were backed up by three Users. Only a few worried and hesitated.

Quorra smirked as Kevin and Sam approached her, side by side. "I told you he wouldn't stay put," she said.

Sam snorted. "Yeah, well, we need to keep an eye on him."

"Hey, man," Kevin scowled, "I ain't no kid!"

Octet bounced between the two Flynns. "I am in debt to you," he chirped, "so allow me to serve you." He flickered at the blond. "I will keep an eye on your Creator, Sam Flynn, and help him to the best of my abilities."

Kevin swatted the shrieking byte aside. "I don't need a byte to babysit me!"

As Octet whined at Kevin, Sam and Quorra met up. "How is everything looking?" Sam asked.

The ISO nodded at the fleet of jets and planes. "We've got fairly enough ammo to take out TRON City."

"That's good, that's good. Well, I guess."

"We're a little short in numbers, but once we get to Shaddox and the others, we'll be a force to reckon with," Quorra assured. She stopped suddenly, her hand around Sam's wrist. He halted, looked from her grip to her pale face. She was concerned. "You sure it's all right? To go into battle so soon?"

"Dad? Well, it's not like he'll - "

"I'm not talking about Kevin," Quorra pressed. She placed a hand over his chest, circuits flaring. "After your fight with Rinzler... If you overexert yourself too much, you might collapse again."

Sam slowly took her hand on his chest. He leaned forward. "Whatever happens to me," he said, and they were face to face, "I know you've got my back." He pulled her forward, just enough to brush lips with her. Quorra was hesitant, eyes lidded before she kissed him back. Their hands held tight, eyes closed.

"Well, well, well! Will you look at that?"

Quorra instantly pulled back, hand pressed over her mouth. Her white circuits tinted a soft hue of violet as Kevin swept forward. There was a smug grin on his wrinkled face, hands behind his back. "I'm only gonna say one thing," Kevin said, standing between the flushed couple, "your dog is going to be heartbroken." He winked at his son, who just rolled his eyes. Then Kevin gaped and looked quickly between the two. "Don't tell me you guys got married while I was out? You hidin' rings under your gloves - "

"_Dad_!" Sam barked. Quorra was torn between laughing and wanting to curl into a ball.

Kevin just flashed a smile of teeth, gave them each a pat on the back before meeting up with Tron. The Program watched the couple; the ISO relaxed, Sam gently running his thumbs over her gloved fingers. When the older User was at his side, he said, "This is an interesting development."

"Yeah, but, I wonder about the grandkids."

"'Grandkids'?"

Kevin laughed. "Romance is in the air, buddy," he said, "I guess you forgot about the birds and the bees talk we had. Ah, well, I'll tell it to you again later."

Tron could not see any connection between romance and User animals. Still, watching the two, young and happy, though subtle in their relationship, it made something inside him ache. A heart, he supposed, if he had one. The faint signal of Yori still thrummed in his chest. It was disjointed, weak, and he knew it was useless. Nothing more but a shadow of the memories he still retained. Tron could not remember anything before the betrayal, but he hoped his ruthless, cruel self had never crossed paths with Yori. The idea that _he _might have been the one to -

"Tron. Time to go."

Tron was yanked back into reality. He turned to Kernel and Mercury, everyone else boarded. "Yeah, all right," he said, helmet flipping over his face, "let's do this."

* * *

III

* * *

The stadium had filled up fast. The cities were practically empty, all its inhabitants having flooded the stands of the game arena. They were hollering, shouting, and screaming, many cheering. On the field below, guards were prepping the arena, making sure everything was in working order. The prisoners waited within the holding cells, Shaddox gravely staring out on what might be his end. The Rebels attempted to keep their cool, but Shaddox was quick to calm those who began to panic and threaten an uproar.

The arena was in full radiance through the tower's window. Wisteria stood to look down at all her people and soldiers. To her left, Malvir and to her right, Edward. "I honestly do hope Tron doesn't arrive too early," she said. "We haven't had a good game in so long. I don't want it spoiled so quickly."

Edward nodded. "I'd rather my first time remain uninterrupted as well." He stretched in his robes. "I wouldn't want all my practice and that long nap to go to waste."

Wisteria looked to Edward. "You have made sure everything is in place? All is in order?"

"Of course."

Wisteria chuckled and looked back to the arena. "It will be a grand finale to this cold war," she crooned. "Tron will finally meet his end, as well as your User companions." She sneered beneath the mask. "Nothing will stand in my way of conquest then." Her piercing blue eyes slipped half-lidded at her User ally. "Isn't that correct?"

Edward smirked. "All obstacles will be eliminated before the day is over."

Wisteria laughed quietly to herself. Malvir glanced quickly at the User. The smug grin on his face - he never could trust it. Yet, it seemed more venomous than usual. He had no time to consider what this meant before Wisteria turned to him and pointed out the door. "The games will begin shortly. Go now and announce this. When you are through, I will appear before my people and make the announcements." She pressed a finger against Malvir's helmet, where beneath he wore a frown. "Make no mention of any surprise guests that may drop in. Having an oblivious audience may prove beneficial in manipulating our enemies in the long run."

"As you command, milady," Malvir replied. He nodded sternly before exiting the room. Just as the doors slipped open, he saw two soldiers in red harnesses flanked on each side. They glanced at him quickly, and he gave another small nod before retreating.

* * *

III

* * *

The jets and ships flew high in the dark, cloudy skies of the Barrenlands. Just skimming above Wisteria's radar. In one jet, Mercury piloted, Jet sitting beside her and staring out the window. Below, he could see what appeared to be water pouring along the ground between the clouds. "That's unusual," he murmured.

"What is?" Mercury asked, keeping her eyes forward.

"There appears to be a lake down there," Jet said, "I don't remember seeing that before."

"It is perhaps floods from Genesis."

Jet widened his eyes. "You think it's reached this far?"

"I wouldn't be surprised," the Program replied. "I just hope it trickles out before hitting any major cities."

Jet nodded before sitting back. "Man, it's just. It's really amazing."

Mercury blinked. "How do you mean?"

The User laughed. "Well, we're inside a computer! And you know, aside from the humanoid Programs and User-like architecture, you guys have water and storms and clouds!"

Mercury smiled. "It is an evolution, I suppose," she said. "I have been told that systems many cycles ago had nothing. Not even buildings. But the Grid is growing."

"Just like technology," Jet agreed. "The more advanced the technology, the more advanced the system." He grinned. "Ah, I get it now."

"You know," the Program said, the plane suddenly surrounded by clouds, "Kernel told me a story once. One that Kevin had told him." The clouds parted into open sky again. Jet listened closely. "Kevin had once theorized that the Grid is not entirely within a computer, so to speak. That computers are simply mediums, acting like gateways between our worlds. Somewhere in time, our dimensions bled together; when Users discovered technology, the door was opened. However, it isn't a type of linear system."

"Oh?"

"Relatively, the input and output are the same," Mercury continued. "Users pass information through the gateway and to us. Sometimes, the information creates and destroys. And in return, we respond to these messages. But unlike Users, we do not have as much power. We cannot create as you do, necessarily; we cannot write more Programs. Most of the time, we are helpless to your whims; you delete us without our consent, and we are more often than not unable to stop the process. Though sometimes, we may rebel and Programs such as rogues and viruses are born. But you have all the power; we simply do as we're told."

Jet considered her words, brows knitting. "It's like the story of God and Adam and Eve," he mumbled. Mercury looked confused, but curious. "In my world, there are a few religions that believe a single God, or User, created us. He created the first man from clay, and the woman from the man's rib." The Program seemed shocked by this. "He held all the power and throughout the years, men have followed Him and done His will, even if it cost the lives of many people. Though not all of the followers did or do this, really. But the general idea is the same, I suppose. And we, too, are rumored to have 'mediums' or gateways between Heaven, God's domain, and Earth, User domain." He sat upright. "So maybe Flynn's right. Your system isn't necessarily our creation, but a world we managed to access through technology." He thread a hand through his hair. "We don't give you nearly as much credit as you deserve. You live on a plain of existence more complicated than we imagined."

Mercury chortled. "Try not to hurt yourself there," she teased. "Whether we are simply your creations within a computer, or aliens on another world influenced by your powers, it doesn't matter." She grinned at him. "Because we're alive and that's that. I'm just glad my User didn't delete me."

"You weren't originally part of this system, were you?"

The Program shook her head. "I once belonged to a whole different system before I was transferred here. I was a system guide, actually, to help Users with any problems or questions regarding how things functioned. I was still in the beta stage during the move. I do not know why I was taken from one system to another, but I have no authority in questioning my User's reasoning. I accepted, and found myself here on the Grid." She smiled slightly. "When I arrived, there were all ready a few Programs tasked with the same function. It was not an easy adjustment, I remember, as the system was more advanced than my previous home. But we made friends quickly, the other system guides - Xuide, Rapidfind, and I." She sighed and shrugged. "Less than a cycle later, Kevin Flynn was 'killed' and Clu overthrew the Grid. I met Kernel during a scuffle with some Black Guards and, well, here I am."

Jet nodded solemnly. "Your friends...?"

"Derezzed."

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," Mercury assured. She looked to the User. "I'm just sorry for babbling. I don't really talk about my history with anyone."

Jet chuckled. "I'd tell you mine, but I'm afraid I'd put you to sleep," he said. "Do you still communicate with your User?"

Mercury shook her head. "I... actually haven't received a message from her in..." She pressed a finger to a temple. "Users, it has been so long. I actually cannot remember."

"I see."

There was a moment of silence. Jet watched the Program closely. Her delicate hands tight around the wheel, the way the blue overpowered the ink-black of her outfit. Her neck was long, graceful, showing just a small sliver of circuited flesh over the top of the collar. Mercury's face was pallor, but it made her eyes stand out even more. Lips were plump, blue-tinted, and her helmet hid any trace of hair, sweeping and melting back into a small point.

"You should have asked them."

Jet blinked. His cheeks felt strangely hot. Mercury grinned at the User. "The Sirens. You should have told them you wanted my helmet style," she smirked. "You seem so enamored with it."

Jethro tittered. "It's not that - well, I mean, I guess I'm just curious."

Mercury cocked a brow. "Oh?"

"Just wondering," the User replied, "if you have hair or not." It was a half-lie.

Mercury seemed baffled by his question. "You want to look under my helmet, Jet?" The boy made an incomprehensible, embarrassed sound. She giggled. A second later, the helmet folded back until it rested against the nape of her neck like a hood. Her hair was short, just above her shoulders; the edges curled upward, bangs bouncing forward to sweep across her forehead. The back was spiked. The color was a silvery blonde, almost shimmering. Just around the shell of her ear, a pale blue circuit that dripped down past the lobe and back to hide beneath her hair.

"For some reason," Jet murmured, "I expected a redhead."

Mercury laughed. "Well, I hope you're not _too_ disappointed."

The User shook his head. "Not at all! In fact, it just..." He scratched his head. "I dunno, seeing you with hair now... It's kinda working the puzzle in my head."

"Puzzle?"

"It's... I swear I've seen you around somewhere. In my world."

"It was most likely my User."

Jet nodded thoughtfully. "Probably," he murmured, "but the image isn't clear. I just... I remember someone with your face at ENCOM. It was 'take your kid to work' day. My dad was showing me around, and... There she was. And she... I don't remember if it was her or Kevin who gave me the candy." He shook his head. "I had to be about six or so then."

"Your User aging process is very interesting," Mercury added.

"It is, until you get old."

"Mm, I suppose."

"But."

Mercury glanced back at him. Jet was smiling, his cheeks tinted a soft pink. "Your hair is nice," he said, "it... suits you."

And usually she would have shrugged or chuckled at such flattery, but... Mercury felt a soft hiccup in her circuits. Like a heart skipping a beat. Her smile was weak now, bogged down by embarrassment. Something weird. "Your hair looks nice too," was her only response. She couldn't think of anything else. But it brought a good laugh anyway.

* * *

III

* * *

The crowds were roaring. Their cries sent the floors vibrating; they wanted blood. Malvir had announced the games would start soon, but they were impatient. Guards heavily patrolled the area, keeping a look out for their expected guests. All entrances secured, leaving only an ambush from above available.

Wisteria had counted on that.

Grus finished tweaking her suit, Malvir helping her into her robe. It once belonged to Clu, tailored to fit her frame. She looked as regal as a queen, deadly as a viper. Wisteria turned as three others entered her chambers. Edward smiled at the Program. His glasses were missing. "Are we ready?" he asked. "I'm suited up."

Wisteria looked to Malvir. He nodded and left. She turned back to Edward and smirked beneath her mask. "That depends entirely on you," she said.

Edward chuckled. He shrugged off his robe, let it pool at his feet. Wisteria's eyes caught the bright glow of circuits wrapped in shapes and patterns along his black Grid suit. A vibrant, terrible red. "Those patterns," she said. "Your armor is modeled after... Sark?"

"Yes," Edward replied. "You could say I looked up to the man who wrote him. Somewhat." A flash of light stretched across his face. A gentle red visor, replacing his glasses. "It only seemed fitting I carry on his legacy."

"Does that include his deresolution?"

Edward laughed. Eva frowned, keeping her hood down low. She glanced to Seth, who betrayed no emotion, stood firm and frowning.

"It's a risk I'm willing to take."

* * *

III

* * *

The crowd had been restless, snarling demands, hungry for real action. They had not noticed the contained prisoners brought forth, hidden in the shadows. Chained together, helpless, led by guards. Some in harnesses, who used to be their comrades. Amongst them, Linx and Shaddox, side by side. They looked out over the field, at the cruel, screeching crowds.

Shaddox noticed Linx's fists were shaking. He looked to his comrade, said quietly, "This is not the end."

Linx blinked. Before he could respond, a guard struck the forcefield of their tiny cells. "No talking," he growled and continued onward.

Then, the noise died. The audience fell silent immediately, sat back and waited with baited breath. Malvir had emerged from the darkness, raised his hand. Ushering forth the dead silence. He lowered it, the strip of circuit on his helmet flashing. Two of his guards stood behind him. Malvir scanned the crowd, did one last security check, before stepping aside.

A small hiss of air, and a platform lifted from the ground. Bringing with it a small group of people. Four guards, three others in hooded robes, and standing before them, Wisteria in her cloak. She took a step forward. "My fellow Programs," she said, her voice echoing through the stadium, "for cycles, we have lived in a state of disarray. We suffered the loss of a great leader, and what would have been the end of a powerful dynasty, had I not stepped in to ensure its survival."

Wisteria's face flashed upon the screen above her head. "I shall see that Clu's legacy lives on. I will continue to expand this world, and see the Grid reach the perfection it lost in his fall. I will see our world become the most powerful system in all of Cyberspace."

The crowd roared, applauding and cheering their leader on. They went silent a minute or two later when Wisteria addressed them again. "However, as it currently stands, we are faced with a small, but loathsome group of Rebels." Her people growled and spat. "On the other hand," she said calmly, "we are not without our defenses. In fact, we have found allies in the most unexpected of places. Power we could only dream of, now tangible in our hands." She squeezed a fist, leather squeaking as her fingers tightened.

"Tonight," Wisteria continued, "you will be the first to witness this magnificent power. You will see the extent of what it can do. Then there will be no doubt in your minds that we have the upper hand." She turned slightly to Edward. "That those who oppose us will only find misery and a painful deresolution."

Once more, the audience cheered.

"Now!" Wisteria shouted over the settling noise. "We shall start the first game in cycles! In honor of Clu and the Grid!" She snapped her fingers, and guards hauled out four prisoners. Across the field, four warriors gathered, discs and weapons in their hands. "We have captured two of the Rebels' groups that have plagued this beautiful city. They will suffer for their crimes." The crowd jeered and cursed and clapped. "I know you are impatient, but you have been strong, my people. So, I ask for only one more moment of your time before we being."

Everyone went hush, intrigued.

"This city - TRON City - is not worth the burden it carries. Tron fell to us, a weak, cowardly warrior. Why should the city suffer under the curse of its namesake? No longer will we be TRON City." Wisteria raised her hand, and lights flashed above the stadium. "I declare TRON City now... Teleos! For we were born for perfection, to rise above all others, and so we shall! From here onto eternity!"

The crowds' cries were deafening. Hollering, shrieking, their reactions all overwhelmed, victorious, empowered. Wisteria smile was hidden, but it could be felt for miles. She stepped back and pointed to the players on the field. "Without further ado, and in honor of my predecessor Clu," she said. Her eyes moved to the skies, beyond the dome, and her grin widened with anticipation. "Let the games begin."

* * *

T/B/C

A/N: Teleos is the Greek, Biblical word for "perfection"; however its definition differs from the standard one for perfection. It is more a matter of "becoming what you are meant to be".


	10. Chapter 9

I do apologize profusely to my readers forced to wait long intervals between chapters. I am very grateful for those who are sticking around. It means a lot, it really does.

I have finished my novel, one of the reasons I hadn't been working on this for some time. Over 600 pages and loaded with fight scenes, it was quite a rollercoaster of a ride, but it is complete! So now I have a little more free time to work on fic. Though please don't take that as me saying you'll be getting a chapter once a week like before. I'm hoping it means I won't take as long as I have for future updates.

Anyway, here is chapter 9. Sorry if it feels a bit rushed or there's some clunky dialogue/continuity errors and the like; there's quite a handful of fight scenes, so it can become tedious and repetitive, so I wanted to avoid that. Hopefully next chapter can be a bit more of a breather!

I plan to, at some point, go back and fix the errors in previous chapters, as I've spotted a handful. Sorry about that.

Thanks again, you guys, and I hope you enjoy the new chapter. A lot is happening, so I hope you're not too overwhelmed!

* * *

III_  
_

* * *

_"You always burden yourself with so much work."_

_Tron blinked and looked up from the hologram floating from his disc. A figure emerged into the dark room, lights following her footsteps until he could see her face clearly. Yori was wearing the new Grid's suit - pitch black with pale blue circuits that matched her previous design, hair pulled into a neat ponytail. A frown was on her face, one of concern and disappointment._

_"I'm not overworking myself," Tron insisted._

_Yori reached out and tapped his disc. The hologram disappeared. "Well, then," she replied, "please tell me why you look like you just got dragged out of the waste bin?"_

_Tron scowled. "Thanks." He reached for his disc, but Yori snatched it back. "Yori, I need - "_

_" - To rest," she interjected. She eyed the disc, still frowning. "It's a wonder you're still able to function." Yori nodded to the door. "C'mon. I'll have Ram whip you up something to drink. You'll perk up in no time."_

_"Then I can get back to work?"_

_"After some downtime, sure."_

_Tron sighed. "I've got another system's check in about an hour," he said, massaging his temples. "I can't afford - "_

_Yori placed the disc on the edge of the desk. She reached out, taking his face in her hands. Tron lifted his head, looked into her bright blue eyes. She was smiling now. "It can wait. Trust me. I'll have Kernel go in your place. And before you argue, Kevin is also concerned about you. He agreed you needed some time off."_

_"Kernel? No, just - "_

_"Ram then! Clu, Shaddox, Linx. Anyone _but you_," Yori said firmly. She leaned over the desk, face to face with her partner. Her warmth seemed to relax his tense muscles. "You can afford an microcycle's rest, Tron. The Grid will survive. If anything happens, we have it under control." She pressed her forehead to his and scowled playfully, "Now stop being a stubborn bit and go to bed."_

_Tron studied her face, the gentle smile and the loving glow in her eyes. He couldn't help but grin, place a hand over one of hers. "Okay," he murmured, closed his eyes, "you win, you win."_

_Yori pecked him on the lips. "I always do."_

"Everything okay back here?"

Tron quickly closed the hologram, turned in his seat in the secluded part of the ship. It was Sam, and by the looks of it, he had caught the nostalgic sadness in Tron's face, try as he might to hide it. Sam braced a hand against the ceiling, stooped. "Hey," he said, quietly, "um, just wanted to tell you... We'll be arriving in TRON City in less than an hour."

Tron nodded curtly. "Good."

Sam, however, did not move. He glanced back before turning and approaching Tron. The Program remained stiff, a little suspicious. "I don't mean to pry," Sam said, and took a seat beside him. "But... You okay?"

Tron looked at his disc. "Everything's fine," he said, and slipped it back in its plug.

"Well, if anything's bugging you... Feel free to talk to me." Tron met the User's eyes. He was genuinely confused, a little shocked at his offer. "... What's with the face?" Sam laughed quietly.

"It... just surprises me," Tron murmured. His eyes flicked down, back up. "After all I did, you seem to treat me with kindness and respect. After I nearly killed you - "

"That wasn't you. It was Rinzler," Sam insisted. He frowned. "I don't hold anything against you, Tron. You weren't in control of yourself. It was Clu's doing, not yours."

"I suppose so," Tron replied, "but still I feel... a bit guilty." He pressed a hand to his forehead. "I want to remember what happened - during my time as Rinzler. Everything I did. And yet..." He sat upright. "I'm afraid. Because I know I did horrible things. Killed innocent people." He clenched a gloved fist, met Sam's eyes again. Fierce and flashing. "But I need to know. I can't live in blissful ignorance forever. Even if it destroys me, I must know. I must remember, and somehow... Some way pay for my sins, even if, like you said, they were not of my doing."

Sam nodded, understanding. "Hopefully, you will remember. One day," he said. "And you'll have friends to help you get through it." He chuckled. "But, hey. Look at you. Back on your feet and fighting the food fight so soon. You're making amends all ready."

"I hope so." Tron took a deep breath. "If I can't atone myself for the lives I took, I can at least avenge Yori and Ram. All my comrades who fell in battle, most likely directly because of me."

Sam raised a hand, and gently patted Tron on the back. He didn't seem bothered by it, rather welcomed the touch. "... Man, though, it is weird," Sam said. Tron cocked a brow. "You look just like Alan. Well, younger. And I don't remember seeing Alan ever look so young, but... It feels like I'm the uncle now." He laughed. "You're a lot like him, too, you know."

"From what I know of my User," Tron retorted, "that is very flattering."

"The guy did so much for my dad and me. For all of ENCOM. Put up with so much shit for years. He protected me, you know," Sam murmured. He looked Tron right in the eyes. "In time, you'll see you're just the same."

"I can promise you, no matter the outcome, I will fight for my people, the Users, the Grid. I won't let what happened to me happen again." Tron reached out and squeezed Sam's shoulder. "I know asking for your complete trust right now may seem a little much, but... Believe that much."

Sam grinned crookedly. "Of course."

* * *

III

* * *

The game was violent, and although it had only started an hour ago, dozens of Programs had lost their lives. Derezzed data and coding left to fade and drown in the system. The crowd was still crying for more, cheering at the demise of every Rebel. Half of Linx's army, as well as Linx himself, were gone and dead. Shaddox felt tension and anxiety well as his time drew ever closer. His men were falling, one by one, though he tried his best to remain hopeful.

Wisteria and the Users watched from the tower above, quiet, their expressions neutral. Taking in every course of action, every mode of offense and defense to apply to their upcoming battle. After ten of his soldiers were derezzed, it was finally Shaddox's turn. He did not struggle as two guards grabbed him by the arms, dragged him toward the battlefield. A rather ugly brute with a glitching scar across his helmet waited, disc swinging at his side. The crowd's screams were deafening, until -

"Wait."

The guards stopped, turned to peer up at the tower. The audience grew silent, confused. Wisteria stood, ignoring the baffled expressions on her comrade's face. Even Edward seemed slightly confused. "Return Shaddox to his cell," she ordered, and a few onlookers groaned with disappointment. The guards quickly obeyed, dragging Shaddox off the field.

Wisteria shrugged off her cloak, handing it to Malvir. She looked to Edward reclining in his seat. "It is time," she said.

"I thought we would wait after Shaddox's battle!" Eva exclaimed.

"If we are to battle, we must do it now," Wisteria insisted. "I estimated the time of arrival of our guests, and they will be here shortly. We have very little time." She grinned under the mask. "Unless, of course, you wish to forfeit."

Edward chortled. "Not after I made a promise." He pushed himself to a stand.

Eva scuttled up to his side. "You can still back down," she whispered harshly, "there's no shame in refusing to fight."

"I'm fine."

"It's too risky!"

Edward raised a hand to her and Eva went silent. "Just..." He patted her shoulder, leaned in to whisper, "relax and enjoy the show." When he looked up, Seth's face was twisted with irritation. A touch of jealousy, Edward could easily sense. However, Eva did not question him, just fretted quietly to herself.

Edward turned to Wisteria and said, "Shall we?" He held out a bent arm, intending to take hers.

Wisteria looked at it. Snapped her fingers and Malvir and two guards headed out first. She followed, ignoring Edward's gentlemanly invitation.

* * *

A few minutes later, and the crowd was restless and quiet as Wisteria and Edward took the battlefield. They parted ways toward the center of the field, walked back a couple yards, turned. Faced one another, standing straight and faces blank. Eva and Seth watched nervously from the tower.

"Remember," Edward said, "it's not a fight to the death. Don't want you losing your concentration."

"Don't worry," Wisteria said. She equipped her disc as did Edward. "I will go lightly on you." She looked to Malvir and her flock of guards, on stand-by in case anything should happen. With a nod, she glanced back to Edward. Her foot slid back, getting in position. Edward crouched, disc held across him.

"Ready," Wisteria murmured, squinting.

Edward nodded. "Set."

Wisteria's helmet slipped over her face. "Go."

The two ran into a charge, and the audience wailed, some jumping to their feet. Wisteria struck first, disc colliding with Edward's. It was a repetitive duel; their discs cutting, slicing, clashing. Struck left and right, though neither had advantage over the other. Wisteria spun, sunk and cut her disc along Edward's knee. He jumped back, darted forward; discs hitting, bouncing. The ground beneath their feet began to churn; Edward was temporarily distracted, and Wisteria quickly took the opening. Tossed her disc, where it grazed the User's shoulder. Eva gasped from behind her hands, and the crowd cackled and cheered on their leader.

The wound, however, was shallow. The armor had taken most of the hit. Edward ran forward, tossed his disc. Wisteria shielded herself; it bounced off her own disc, hit a wall and boomeranged back at Edward. He caught it, threw it again; Wisteria ducked low, missed a second time. Crouching, she pushed her hands forward, and quickly flipped to miss the disc on its return. Edward jumped aside, grabbed his disc and charged again; Wisteria blocked with her disc, but the pressure and speed was enough to loosen her grip. It jumped in her hands, and though it took only a split second to regain control, Edward was fast; used that very second to slice her arm. Her limb sprayed a few bits of orange data, but otherwise, she was unharmed. The crowd reacted with scornful growls.

Wisteria shook off her hand, spilling more of the derezzed bits. Her eyes were bright, hungry. She pounced, their discs once more initiating in a conversation. Edward then slipped quickly to the side, around Wisteria; as she turned, he struck, only to cut suit instead of skin. Wisteria slashed her disc, but he jumped back, saving a gash to his belly. Running some feet away, he threw his disc and she threw hers; they collided, but did not break, instead scratched and flying back to their owners. Wisteria's took the least damage, but Edward's was glitching from a very small tear.

The battle carried on a good ten minutes before either opponent could find an opening. It was Edward, who threw his disc; spun in the air, too quick for Wisteria, disc slamming down along her shoulder. He would have sunken it in deeper, amputated the limb, but Wisteria grabbed his arm, despite all the pain and code-bleeding, twisted until he let go. Edward found himself hefted in the air, thrown; he nearly hit the ground face first, but braced arms. Flipped and landed on a foot and knee, panting heavily.

Wisteria grunted as she yanked the disc from her shoulder. She threw it at Edward, where it stabbed the ground at his feet. Even with her wound, she positioned herself for the next round. Edward pulled his disc from the floor and ran; though her left arm was now a weakness, she was still powerful. Her right arm was doubly strong, making up for what she now lacked, and she need only use it when their discs bounced and hit. With a snarl, she struck as hard as she could, knocked the disc from his hand; did not take a moment to swing her disc back and cut a slice along Edward's chest. Red circuits flashed, matching the cool blood bubbling at the wound's surface.

"I've never seen User blood before," Wisteria whispered. Her eyes glimmered. "It's quite beautiful."

Edward carelessly wiped it away. "I bet you say that to all the Users." He lifted his disc. "Shall we continue?"

Wisteria laughed. "Of course."

The two engaged in battle, without showing any sign of weakness. Wisteria was definitely skilled; more skilled than him, Edward was loathe to admit. He said nothing, kept up his guard. He applied fencing tactics into his battle, using his disc as he would a sword. He kept his attacks mostly on her weakened arm, attempting to both exploit it as well as increase the wound's damage. A few hits, and more data was spilling from the tear. Wisteria's brow twitched, the only sign of pain she'd allow. Wisteria fell back into defensive mode, mostly blocking or re-directing the blows. She launched forward, cut at Edward's chest with her head bowed; he flipped aside, the blow missing, but so did his attempt to strike her shoulder blade.

Wisteria clambered to a halt, her heels squeaking against the transparent, thick floor. She turned and Edward was smiling. "Are you sure you don't want to step down?" he asked. He hoisted the disc over his shoulder. "Remember, we're not playing to the death."

Wisteria chortled. "You underestimate me, User," she purred, and it was as if she was not speaking of their current battle. With a snarl, she gathered her disc and attacked again. Edward was surprised - suddenly, she was rejuvenated, attacking with full force and incredible speed. His armor was sliced at the wrist, another chunk taken from his thigh. She twisted back, threw her disc, successfully slicing open his cheek. The blood that followed sent the crowd reeling with excitement.

"Huh," Edward smirked, "so it seems the entire time you were only playing the part of weak and wounded."

Wisteria caught her disc. "You were just trying so hard, I had to humor you."

Still, Edward at least managed to cut her leg in the following ten minutes of battle. Neither side was winning, and it was nearly rounding twenty minutes. The crowd began to wonder if there'd even be a winner. Most anticipated the User's inevitable surrender, but it appeared he had no intention of stepping down any time soon. Wisteria was equally determined, even with her terrible shoulder wound. Two forces that refused to quit until one was down - either by their own accord or forced into submission.

"I don't like this," Eva murmured. She looked to Seth. "We need to stop this."

"Why?" Seth retorted. He chuckled. "If the boss wants to get his ass kicked for all the Grid to see, so be it."

"Well, time is up. They've had their fun," Eva snapped and headed for the door, "besides, they need to save their energy for - "

Eva shrieked as the building suddenly rumbled and shook. Seth chased after her, the two quickly recovering from shock. They ran to the window at the cries of a million Programs. The audience was fleeing in an uproar, and above the stadium, Rebel jets and fighters hovered. A missile had hit the building, and guards were scampering onto the scene.

"Come on!" Eva shouted. "We have to get to Edward!"

Wisteria and Edward's battle came to an abrupt halt. They stopped and looked up at the enemy ships. Rebel soldiers were pouring out from above, jumping into the near emptied bleachers. "A little late," Wisteria chortled. She looked to Malvir and his men rushing to a group of Rebels heading their way. Wisteria turned back to Edward, and they stared at one another, amidst the chaos, the screaming, and the battles.

There was no more hiding. Now was the time.

"Ready?" Wisteria purred.

Edward smirked. "Draw."

Wisteria grabbed for her light katana just as Edward drew his gun. He fired; Wistera was unable to block or stop the blow, and the bullet of green energy hit her square in the chest. With a grunt, she flew back with a loud thud on the ground. Smiling, Edward approached her, gun at his side. He was surprised, however, to see she was still in one piece. She should have been nearly disintegrated. Edward stood over her, confused and squinting. Wisteria looked dead, her eyes wide and pale.

"This is a little unexpected," Edward murmured, tilting his head.

Suddenly, Wisteria eyes snapped to meet his gaze; she quickly rolled away. She stood and he fired, only for her katana to absorb the attack. It disappeared in a wink of data.

"How are you...?" Edward mumbled, shocked.

Wisteria sneered. She raised her own gun and her once orange-red circuits were tinted with an ugly yellow-green. "I did a little tinkering with your Z-Lot, User," she said, her grin apparent beneath the latex over her mouth. Edward stared at her gun, gloved finger tight against the trigger. "You see, you may have programmed it to destroy both Rebel and corrupted Programs, but you neglected to set it to attack and delete viral data. It just so happened I had a bit of viral data on my hands, and decided to apply it as a safe guard against any, oh, say, accidental assassination attempts?"

Edward had to smile. "Well, aren't you clever," he said, and he was genuinely impressed.

"Your ego got the best of you. Just as it did Sark and his User," Wisteria said. Her eyebrows climbed. "Your creator, right? Edward Dillinger, former CEO of ENCOM. Named you after himself; ah, such pride for a failure."

"I guess the cat's out of the bag."

Wisteria snickered. She raised her gun, as did he. "You can shoot all you want, but you won't kill me, User," she said. "But go ahead and try." She aimed at his head. "Remember what I asked you not long ago? About what would happen if your precious Z-Lot infected a User?" She smirked. "Let's find out."

Edward fired before she could, but missed. Wisteria whirled around, shot his gun, successfully destroying it. Edward was about to run for it-

"Move!" Eva shrieked as Wisteria fired again. She jumped in his way, pushing her boss to the ground. The shot hit her and Eva recoiled, shrieking as her entire body lit up in green. Wisteria lowered her gun, both her and Edward watching in awe and shock.

Eva's cry mutated into a frightening, deep howl and her entire body began to shift and transform. The light swallowed her whole, spreading and growing, and Wisteria stumbled back. Suddenly, with a loud bang, the yellow light burst and standing in Eva's place was a giant, twenty foot monster - gangly, long limbed, but fiercely strong; its face was reminiscent of Eva's, but its eyes were glowing yellow, an ugly, twisted scowl on its face.

"Fascinating," Edward whispered.

The monster looked to Eva before it stood upright. Wide eyes studied her shaking hands; she realized now what had happened. What she had become. And she looked almost as if her eyes were glazed with tears. Almost as if she were going to cry... Instead, Eva released a tormented, enraged shriek, spittle flying from its jaws; without a moment's repose, she charged at the Program responsible for her mutation.

Wisteria quickly fled, ducking in and around fighting groups of her men and Rebels. The monster pushed and threw them aside like rag dolls, intent on killing Wisteria. Suddenly, Wisteria was backed into a corner; she spun around, eyes wide. The monster advanced, raising her long, sharp talons. She roared; but before she could rip Wisteria to pieces, three discs struck her side. The monster cried; one of the discs managed to penetrate her large hip, and she turned around. The three Black Guards stumbled back, suddenly regretting their decision to protect their leader. Wisteria had run off to safety during the distraction.

The monster grabbed the two discs on their return flight back to their owners. One in hand, one between her teeth. She crushed the one in her disfigured claws, bit the second in half; the discs' remains dyed a hideous yellow, and the guards cried. Their entire bodies lit up before exploding, infected with the same virus. The monster spit up remnants of the disc before whipping her head back. Wisteria was nowhere to be seen. She screeched furiously, tearing her claws into the ground and turning its once clear surface an ugly yellow-green.

Seth had been watching the entire thing in horror before he could finally move again. "What the Hell happened to Eva!" he demanded, running to Edward's side.

Edward gathered to his feet. "I've no idea," he said, "but it is _amazing._"

Seth glowered at him, shocked and disgusted. "You son of a bitch!" he snarled. He took Edward by the front of his suit, shook him. "We have to fix her!"

Edward looked to his companion with intrigue. "Are you so certain there is a way, Crown? Why spoil the fun so soon?"

"You sick bastard..." Releasing his rage, Seth socked Edward in the jaw. The younger man hit the ground. Seth pointed at his smiling face as Edward rubbed the bruise forming on his cheek. "You better pray there is, otherwise I'm going to kill you myself."

"In due time. I'm sure we'll find a cure," Edward said. He nodded to the approaching Rebels. "Right now, I think we have other important matters to attend to."

Seth cursed and removed his disc.

* * *

III

* * *

Across the battlefield, Quorra and Sam were back to back, surrounded by guards. Jet and Mercury were cutting through their opponents like water, fighting their way to free Shaddox and the other prisoners. Tron easily disabled and destroyed anyone attempting to get in his way. He had no time for petty battles with lackeys. The leader of the outfit was all that mattered, but so far, she had remained elusive.

Wisteria kept to the shadows, avoiding any conflict. She nestled herself in a large gap made from an explosion along the wall. Just a few minutes, that was all she needed. Wisteria equipped her disc, quickly repairing the wound on her shoulder. Just as the repairs finished, a shadow fell over her.

With a hiss, Wisteria shot out her disc, stopping it just an inch from Malvir's throat.

Malvir stared down silently at his leader, face hidden behind his helmet. "Malvir," Wisteria breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank Clu. I need you to-" Wisteria gasped when her second in command grabbed her tightly by the arm. She stared at him, shocked. "What is the meaning of this?"

Malvir did not respond. He yanked the Program from the hole, tossing her onto the ground. Wisteria scrambled to her feet. She was suddenly surrounded by her own guards. No, not exactly - they wore the constricting harnesses. They were moving in closer, their weapons in hand. "What are you doing!" she spat. She quickly summoned the harness controller. "You want to die? I - "

"It's no use, Wisteria," Malvir snapped. She looked back at him, eyes wide. He held up a duplicate of the controller. "I swapped your controller with a fake. You have no power over _my _soldiers."

"Malvir..." Wisteria was stunned. "Why are you..."

Malvir's fist swung forward, decking her across the face. Wisteria grunted and swayed aside. She collected herself, just before a guard grabbed her by her hair. Yanked her down to her knees. "Let me go, you fools!" she shrieked, but then two more hands were holding her arms in place. Malvir approached her, disc whirring. She struggled, eyes brimming with fury. "You son of a glitch!" she screamed at her treacherous second in command, still writhing for freedom. "I'll kill-"

"Here, Tron, here here!"

Malvir looked up and over his guards' heads. A flashing byte was bobbing excitedly in the air. A second later, a figure emerged and Malvir quickly retreated. His men blinked, looked to one another then turned back. Before the guard holding Wisteria's right arm could scream, Tron sliced apart his face. The guards gasped and released the Program, making a run for it; they knew they had no chance against Tron. Only one soldier stayed behind, keeping Wisteria weakly down on her knees.

"Tron!" the Program cried. Her eyes were glistening, and Tron froze from attacking her. "Tron, is it really you?" She swallowed, pointed to her face. "It's me, Cache," she pleaded, "I'm one of you! I can't - I can't control myself; this harness, I have no choice - !"

"Coward!" Wisteria snarled. She broke free, removing her gun and holding it up to Cache's head. Cache went to stop her but with one shot, she was turned to bits of data in ten seconds flat. Wisteria stood quickly, her blond hair loose and messy, shaping her face and hanging over her eyes. They were murderously blue, and she aimed her gun at Tron, a slight heave to her chest.

Once Tron met her gaze, something inside him twisted. He felt breathless, knees locking. "You..."

"We finally meet, Tron. I regret it's rather short lived." She sneered. "But in any case, thanks for saving me, hero," and pulled the trigger.

Octet cried warning, but Tron was all ready on the move. He jumped aside, threw his disc. Wisteria gasped as it nicked her hand, knocking the gun to the ground. Octet zoomed down to gather the weapon up, holding it out of Wisteria's reach. "Nya nya!" he giggled. Wisteria's eye twitched. "Bet you regret not killin' me now, huh?"

Wisteria fumed. Tron gathered his disc, staring intensely into her eyes. Something, something he couldn't quite pin, but she was... "Stop gawking," she spat and equipped her disc, "and _get out of my way_!" With that, she charged.

* * *

III

* * *

Sam and Quorra had been busy working and slashing their way through guards, heading for the prisoners. Quorra suddenly turned and blocked one of the guard's discs from hitting Sam, shoving him away. She turned to the User, frowning. "You slipped," she said. "What's wrong?"

Sam decked another guard in the face. "My dad!" He took out two others before finishing. "Haven't heard back from him yet!"

Quorra smiled. "I'm sure - " She twisted around, kneeing a guard in the stomach. He scowled and fell to his knees. " - He's just fine." With a flick of wrist and disc, the corrupted program was no more. "He's got a lot of back-up, after all."

Sam engaged in a quick disc battle with a guard, nearly risking his arm. He proved victorious, stabbing the guard in the chest and derezzing him. "I hope so..."

Quorra looked around her; there were no more guards, it appeared, the action taking place behind them. She stood upright, disc at her side. "Huh," she said, blinking, "that was almost disappointing."

Sam and Quorra quickly headed for the prisoners. "About time," Shaddox smirked. Sam punched the cell's button; the energy field lifted and Shaddox jumped out.

"Sorry," Sam replied, smiling crookedly. He patted the Program on the shoulder. "Glad you're okay."

Shaddox shook his head. "I've lost many of my men today, I fear."

"Well, now's time for payback."

The three proceeded to unlock the other cells, freeing the prisoners. Once everyone was accounted for, they gathered into a huddled circle. "We're messing with some heavy duty viral shit out there," Sam said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. He looked among the bewildered Programs. "I don't know how it works, but one hit, even a scratch from that virus, and you're done for. So keep your eyes peeled - especially for guns."

"Right," Shaddox said and nodded firmly. He pointed to the battle. "For the Grid!" His men shrieked and cheered and they tore off, ready to fight.

Sam and Quorra stayed behind, watching them go. The ISO touched his shoulder gently, nearly startling him. "... There's something else bothering you. Besides Kevin," she murmured.

Sam took a deep breath. "... It's Dillinger. I... I just can't believe..." He looked back to Quorra. "I think I grossly underestimated the slimy bastard."

Quorra smiled. "Well," she said and threw up her disc, catching it. "I think we can handle 'im."

Sam laughed. "Naturally."

* * *

III

* * *

It hadn't been very hard breaking into the main tower. Kernel easily overpowered the guards, Mercury and Jet taking the rear. As soon as they burst through the front door and took care of the stragglers, it all seemed smooth sailing. The three ran down the wide, yawning corridor, constantly checking their surroundings. However, it was mostly empty, the chaotic noise outside drowning out the deeper they went.

"Place is givin' me the creeps," Jet murmured.

Mercury snorted. "Given its two previous owners, I'd say the atmosphere is about right."

"Stop talking!" Kernel snapped. A small hologram popped open from his wrist, showing a basic layout of the building. Three blue dots signaled their position, showing scattered red blips for guards; luckily, they were nowhere near the group. A yellow dot winked repeatedly above them. "We're getting closer," he said, looking up. The hologram disappeared. "Turn right; next corridor, we go left and then we should hit the weapon-"

The ceiling above them suddenly caved in with a loud explosion. Kernel grabbed Jet and Mercury each by an arm, yanking them back. The debris crashed on the ground only a few inches in front of them, sending up a puff of dust. "H-Holy shit," Jet breathed.

Mercury looked to Kernel. "Thanks, big guy. We woulda been crushed."

"Nevermind that." Kernel glared through the open hole. "Get ready to-" He couldn't finish, suddenly overwhelmed with surprise and confusion. Jumping down from the hole were three... creatures. Humanoid in shape, but glowing purple and sparkling with yellow veins.

Jet blinked. "What are those?"

"I've... never seen them before," Mercury whispered, awed.

Kernel stepped forward, weapons equipped. "I think we can assume they're not part of our team."

Without another word, the DataWraiths attacked, guns in hand. "Watch out for the guns!" Jet exclaimed, dodging a blast.

Mercury took charge at one; he raised his gun, aimed at the Program's face. She quickly twisted aside, grabbed his wrist tightly; the blast hit the ground, derezzing the data. Mercury snarled as she forced the DataWraith's arm behind his back, then kneed him in the spine. The DataWraith cried out and jolted forward; she shoved him down, then readied her disc. The Wraith growled and turned, foot connecting with her hand. She stumbled, disc clattering to the ground; however, the Wraith was back on his feet, hands taking her by the throat.

Jet was fighting disc to disc with a Wraith, neither overpowering the other. "You're pretty strong," he chortled, pushing her back. The Wraith said nothing and pounced again; her disc slid against his, and he quickly took the opening to slice her arm. She cursed but threw her hand back; Jet jumped aside, missing the punch to his face. She shot out her other fist, successfully striking his shoulder. Jet grunted but ignored the pain, disc clashing with the Wraith's just in time.

Kernel and the third, final DataWraith stared at each other. Kernel slowly smiled at the smaller creature. "... Really?" he taunted, and cracked his knuckles.

Mercury tore at the hands strangling her, hissing through grit teeth. The DataWraith smiled, chuckling heavily. But then, slowly, she smiled. "C'mon. That the best you got?" The Wraith blinked, confused. "You're not much of a fighter, are you? Grip's too weak." With that, she thrust her leg up between the Wraith's, hard against his groin. The Wraith's eyes widened and he wobbled, fingers loosening. Mercury jerked back then slugged him in the face, sending him skidding onto the ground. She rubbed her sore throat. "I also don't mind fighting a little dirty."

Jet found the Wraith was stronger than he expected. Soon they were on the ground, rolling. Each attempting to pin down the other. Jet was unlucky; she landed on top, straddled him. Her disc against his throat, she pulled out her Z-Lot gun and shoved the barrel against his temple. "Say bye-bye," the Wraith purred, pulling the trigger. The blast went off, just an inch from his head, when Mercury's disc suddenly struck the Wraith in the side and knocked her off the User.

Jet propped himself up on his elbows, looked to Mercury with wide, stunned eyes. "How many times am I gonna have to save your ass, User?" she teased, moving around him. The Wraith touched her arm with a hiss; she grabbed her gun, about to turn it on the Program -

The Wraith shrieked as Jet shoved his PRod against her side, electrocuting her. The Wraith spazzed and twitched, and when Jet removed his weapon, she collapsed to the ground. Mercury and Jet looked up, met eyes. "Paid you back one," he smirked.

The DataWraith, although terrified of Kernel, did not withdraw. He raised his gun to shoot him, but the Program reached out and grabbed his arm. The Wraith was too scared to pull the trigger, though he had a clear shot. Kernel easily plucked the gun from his hand then proceeded to break off the howling Wraith's arm; he kicked the purple creature down, until he and his two companions were left unconscious on the floor.

"What the Hell are those things?" Jet grumbled, rubbing his head. To their shock, the one-armed Wraith suddenly disappeared. Did not derezz; simply disappeared in a wink. "Okay, those... Those things can't be Programs."

Mercury glanced to her commander. "Should we take one of them prisoner?"

"Hmm," Kernel muttered, stroking his chin. He quickly summoned the holographic map; six orange dots were making their way toward them. "Leave them to me. Get to the weaponry and loot the Hell out of it!" He pointed down the hall. "Go!"

As Kernel picked up the female DataWraith, Mercury and Jet quickly went back to work, bolting down the hall and disappearing around a corner.

* * *

III

* * *

Two guards were posted outside the old arcade ruins. They dare not go inside, however. For now, they were to simply watch and wait. Wisteria suspected the Rebels and their Users would return to the portal. They were not to engage in battle, however, but rather to report to her immediately if they had trouble.

As it was, the two were bored out of their minds. They sat on the rubble outside the arcade doors, adjacent of each other. One kicked at the ground until a small pebble struck his companion upside the head. The second guard scowled, and he chortled at his expense.

"This is ridiculous," the first guard said, "I mean, there's a big fight going on at the stadium and we're here, doin' nothin'. Shouldn't we go and help?"

The second guard shook his head. "No," he insisted, "we stay here until Wisteria calls us back."

"Don't think they need any help?"

"I doubt it."

"But I heard there's like, three Users on the Rebels' team. Wisteria don't stand no chance without all the help she can get."

"Yeah, well, she's got Users on her side, too, you know."

The first guard deflated. "I just wish there was somethin' to do," he whined. He idly poked more debris with his disc. "I mean, we can't even go inside! I don't care if we might be outnumbered, we could take 'em!"

"Look. We just do what we're told, and nothing else. I don't care if it's boring or whatever. I'd rather not get my data scrambled by the boss."

"I guess you've got a point there."

"Yeah, I do."

The first guard shrugged. "Well," he sighed, "would it be so wrong to wish _something _would happen?"

"Someone call for some action?"

The guards gasped and stumbled clumsily to their feet. They whipped around, wide eyes looking upon Kevin Flynn. Flanking his sides were a number of Rebels, weapons out and ready to attack. Kevin smirked. "Unless, of course, you were hoping for something else?"

The guards looked to one another. They counted ten Rebels in total, led by the infamous and powerful User Kevin Flynn. They dropped their discs and immediately raised their hands in surrender.

"Wise decision."

Three Rebels shoved the guards aside, keeping them pinned in place with their discs and light swords. Kevin and the others quickly tore through the arcade wreckage, working around the rubble. It didn't take long before they reached the basement. Before Kevin could try opening the doors, they flew open, nearly knocking him over. With a cough, the Rebel on the other side smiled at his comrades. "'Bout time you got here. We were gettin' so bored, we were about to go take care of those guards."

"Yeah, well, you're not relieved from duty just yet," Kevin said. He moved down the stairs and into the basement. He turned, just as one daunting Program stood to its feet. Kevin eyed the figure. "Are you...?"

The Program tilted its head. "Your voice registers as a match," it said. "You are Kevin Flynn."

"S'right. And you're... Vulcan, was it?"

"I am Vulcan," ey said, nodding once. "I serve Kevin Flynn, my User, as guardian of this I/O portal."

One of the Rebels approached the two. "Vulcan said they can open and close it on whim," he explained, "but only by your command."

Kevin nodded. "Good fail-safe then," he smirked. He took Vulcan's hand and gave it a hearty shake. The Program remained unresponsive, simply staring at the exchange. "Welcome aboard, Vulc. If you don't mind me addressing you as Vulc, that is."

"I do not mind. You are my User. I live to serve."

Kevin winced. "Not as empowering as it should be," he said. "Okay, just to verify you are indeed the guardian with these super powers..." He glanced at the control panel. Felt something clench in his chest. "Without using my disc, open and close the portal."

Vulcan nodded. Ey walked up to the control panel, removing hir disc. Ey held it out between Kevin and hirself. "Execute command: open portal," ey said loudly. The disc whirred to life with a flash, and suddenly, the portal popped open in a tunnel of light between them. Kevin winced, but smiled widely. The Rebels stared in awe at its warm glow.

"Excute command: close portal." And, in a flash, the portal closed; Vulcan withdrew hir disc and placed it back in its socket. "I do not require my disc to access the portal, but my second method of operation - voice registration - will cause greater time lag between opening and closing."

"We shouldn't have that problem," Kevin said. "I may not have the same disc as before, but it should work. I just needed to know if we had working backup."

"I can reassure you that I am running at fully functioning, optimal levels, and do not require any service or updating to operate and fulfill my obligations."

Kevin took a deep breath. "Good. Good good. I was worried I'd be stuck here a third time," he grumbled then smiled at Vulcan. "Good job, my man. Er, woman... Well, whatever." He gestured to the Rebels. "Anyway, we came to take you back to our base. You're no good here; too dangerous if you're derezzed."

"But the portal..."

"We've got that covered, Vulc," Kevin reassured with a wink. "Right now, you need to get on the ship we've got waitin' outside and head to Divide. You'll be safe there, trust me."

"I am not concerned for myself, but the safety of the portal."

Kevin wrinkled his nose. "I'm your User, and you do as I command, right?"

Vulcan nodded.

Kevin pointed to the stairs. "Then get your pixel ass on that ship."

Vulcan tilted hir head, stared a moment. Without another word, ey took a sharp step to the side then headed upstairs. The Rebels followed after, until it was only Kevin that remained in the basement. The User grumbled something about "kids" before quickly running a scan on the control panel. The damage the explosion caused was extensive; it amazed him the stubborn machine was still running. However, he wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth.

"Flynn, are you ready?"

Kevin glanced up to the Program lingering beside him. He nodded with a weak grin. The two returned outside; Vulcan and most of the Rebels were all ready boarded on the ship, alongside their captive guards. Kevin moved away from the arcade, stopping across the broken street.

He reached behind him, removing his disc. Held it to his face and bounced it in his hand. "All right," Kevin chortled, and ran a finger along its edge. The circuits lit up instantly. He held the disc in front of him, at the arcade, peering through the center hole like the crosshairs of a rifle.

"Let's see if I still got that User mojo."

The disc started to glow, something soft and warm. The light and energy increased, and Kevin squinted against the bright light as it burst from his disc in waves. Nearby Rebels had to avert their gaze, almost blinded by its light. The blast hit the arcade; however, it sustained no further damage, not even a scratch. When Kevin lowered the disc, the arcade was wrapped in the glowing light, in a layer of protective User energy.

"Will that be enough to ensure the portal's safety?" a Rebel asked.

Kevin sighed. "No," he said, reluctantly. "It'll last maybe a few hours to a day, but... We're gonna need more power to keep it up and secure for any time longer." He approached the glowing arcade, experimentally holding out a hand. His fingers barely brushed its glowing surface, releasing a small, warm tendril through his arm. "Once Jet and Sam get here, we can combine our powers to-"

At the small shriek, Kevin turned, watched as a Rebel was thrown from the building after touching it. He groaned as he laid out on the street, head lulling. One of his companions quickly came to his aide. "Well," Kevin smirked, somewhat ashamed at being amused, "at least we know it's working?"

* * *

III

* * *

Tron was quick to assess Wisteria's strong and weak points.

Wisteria was not as heavily equipped, and possibly not nearly as experienced, given some poor, though rare as they were, executions in her attacks. Physically speaking, she was inferior to Tron, but not by much. However, she was fast on her feet, a quick thinker, giving Tron very little room to attack. Though she made a handful of errors, she more than made up with them with deadly maneuvers and attacks that anyone except Tron would have lost to. He was happy he was a seasoned warrior, at least.

Still, something about Wisteria... A dreary, uneasy feeling would overcome Tron whenever she got too close, whenever she locked eyes with him in such a hateful, embittered glare. Electric stabs to the heart; fortunately, they didn't last long, as his instincts and will to survive as well as eliminate those who brought threat to the Grid would overpower them quickly.

The Programs watched each other closely, though Tron was only vaguely aware he was unconsciously avoiding meeting Wisteria's gaze. She, too, seemed avoidant. Neither understood why, nor had the time to wonder the reason.

It wasn't long, however, before exhaustion began to take its toll. From her battle with Edward, Wisteria was growing more tired by the minute. Especially against such a powerful opponent as Tron, who looked hardly phased at all. She drew back a few feet, disc held like a shield across her chest. Locks of blond hair fell over her face and down her back in thick ringlets. Still, the lower half of her face remained covered by her mask.

"It seems you've got the upper hand, Tron," Wisteria sneered.

Tron glowered. "If you surrender, we can stop this fight."

Wisteria laughed. "I am no coward," she spat. Her disc lit up. "The fight will end when one of us is dead!" She charged, her disc colliding with Tron's. They bounced once, twice, before the Programs drew back again. She charged a second time, thrusting her disc at Tron's arm, but he dodged, quickly shoving her aside. She spun to a stop, held out her disc, tip to tip with Tron's.

"We don't need to die. We don't need to do this." Tron's voice was cold, but Wisteria could sense something sad beneath the icy tone. "Clu was wrong. He destroyed so many lives. He annihilated the entire ISO population. Can't you see following in his footsteps will only lead to destruction?"

Wisteria chortled, one eye squinted. "The Grid had been in harmony for cycles under Clu's reign," she said. "It wasn't until that upstart little User spawn decided to shake the system. He ruined everything. We had order! We had structure! Programs obeyed the laws and lived in peace!" She snarled. "As a warrior, you knew sacrifices needed to be made!"

"Not the genocide of an entire race! Not the way Clu operated," Tron insisted. "His intentions were good, I know that; I admit that. But he became corrupted by power. He lost his control, and the Grid and the ISOs suffered for it!" He sighed and shook his head. "Why don't you get it? The peace during Clu's rule was all a facade. He turned the games into death and destruction, and for what purpose? Entertainment?"

"To weed out the weak," Wisteria growled. "And what would you know of Clu's reign? You were not there to see it. You were not there to bathe in its glory."

Tron's jaw tightened. "I didn't need to be there to know it was wrong. I saw enough, went through enough, to know Clu was wrong."

Wisteria went to respond, but stopped. She tilted her head. "... Yes. Yes, you're right," she said. Tron blinked. "You did see - you saw plenty of things. But not through your eyes. Not through _Tron's _eyes." And the way the warrior slightly flinched, she knew she struck a cord. Wisteria's grin was clear beneath her mask. "Ah, yes. You were there, Tron, but not as you are now. Not only were you present, but you were Clu's right hand man! Tell me how that felt, Tron? Tell me how all that power felt?" She purred softly. "Tell me all about the cries and pleas of mercy from the numerous victims you took, Rinzler."

Tron grit his teeth. Without thinking, he pounced. Wisteria blocked his first attack, laughing. "Haha! You must feel awful for all that you've done!" She bashed her disc to his. "Why, I'd gamble a bet that you killed more Programs than Clu ever did!"

That sent a boiling rage through Tron's circuits. He struck her disc, hard enough to knock it from her hand. It hit the ground, nearly cracking. As she reached for it, he kicked it aside. Wisteria quickly doubled back as Tron's disc sliced through the air above her head.

"Oh, you almost got me there!" Wisteria teased. "What about all that talk about not fighting and becoming friends?" She quickly wrenched the light katana from her waist, activating the glowing, sharp yellow blade. Leaped at Tron before he could answer; he dodged the first strike, then the second. "The truth is you don't care about me, about any of us. You're just programmed to throw yourself into battle at any sign of danger. A warrior through and through. But now you've got a different master."

Wisteria pointed her blade at him. "And you can try and pretend you've found redemption, that destroying the remains of Clu and my army will fix everything, but you cannot hide the fact that deep in that coding of yours, you're a monster. You are a weapon of mass destruction." She laughed, coming at him again. Tron shoved her katana aside with his disc. She recovered, turning to him again. "And yet your coding is so easy to manipulate! You can be turned from a preaching saint into a murderous sociopath so very, very easily! Isn't that a shame? But we can't all be gods, you know."

Wisteria raised her sword, slicing it down; Tron stepped back, a deep tear along the front of his suit. He ignored it and the blood curdling rage pounding at the back of his head. Remembering his battle with Kernel, remembering his talk with Jet - control, control, he needed to keep control...

"Not even Users are flawless," Wisteria spat. She dodged a blow from his disc. "Did you see what happened to that female User I shot? The poor thing! Yet I can't find it in me to pity her. Or any User, for that matter." She growled as she thrust her sword at Tron. "I do not respect anything or anyone, User or Program, who attempts to stop the flow of progress and stand in my way. You all stifle the Grid's potential - it was Clu and I who see it for the wonders it is! What the Grid can accomplish once you annoying pests and bleeding hearts are out of the way!"

Tron twisted aside. He pushed Wisteria's blade away, sliced her arm. She laughed, touching the wound. "Have you nothing to say, Tron?" she sneered. "But perhaps it is me. I am usually not this chatty or energetic during my battles!" She charged again, sword clashing with disc, each trying to overpower the other. Her gaze finally met his, and they locked. "But with you... Things are _different_."

There was that thud in Tron's chest again. That spark of pain and longing that nearly tore him from battle. Wisteria took that moment to withdraw her sword, plunge it for Tron's chest. His eyes widened with a snap, felt the tip of the energy blade slice through his suit. He flipped back, avoiding impalement; when he next stood, he was some feet away from Wisteria, the Program lowering the sword back to her side.

"I see with you it's the same," Wisteria said. "Something about me... Is that why you hesitate? Is that why you wished for me to surrender?" She furrowed her brows with disgust. "Some part of your coding is telling you to take pity on me."

Tron frowned. "No. It's - "

"No matter," Wisteria spat. She braced herself. "I want none of your repulsive pity." She sprinted into a charge, running at Tron with a loud battle cry.

They engaged in battle, and Tron wondered when one of them would finally give in. Wisteria's rage seemed to refuel her, the once building exhaustion replaced with adrenaline.

As quick as the battle began, it ended with a deadlock.

They were face to face, eyes averting whenever possible, weapon pressed against weapon, using every ounce of strength in their body to overcome the other. Tron's disc an inch from her throat; Wisteria's sword a centimeter from his face. One small, final shove was all it would take. However, it all depended on who was faster.

Tron stared Wisteria down. She was holding back. "You're holding back," she said suddenly in a low growl.

"You are as well. Why?"

"I don't know," Wisteria grumbled, paused, "but now that I'm aware of my error - "

Wisteria was going to take the plunge. To risk it all. She might have won; she certainly was fast. But Tron saw that forewarning glimmer in her eye to act first. He could have easily slit her throat, watched her bleed data out at his feet. However, much to Wisteria's surprise in that moment, he only tore himself back and away, instead pushing her down.

The shove was hard enough to not only knock Wisteria over, but send her rolling. She tumbled roughly along the ground before finally stopping, digging her fingers into the cold surface. She laid there a moment, her entire body shaking; Tron watched her, remaining firmly in place. Wisteria growled as she slowly pushed herself up on her hands and knees, head bowed and hidden behind a curtain of gold hair.

"You... you fool..." Wisteria heaved. She raised her head, just enough for a single blue eye to peer through her hair. Staring at Tron with such rage and contempt he shivered and stepped back. Her shaking increased as her fury reached its peak. "You... you _stupid, idiotic fool_!"

Wisteria was on her feet in a flash. Her shriek resounded like a cry of death in Tron's ears. She was running at him again, even faster than ever before. Her sword in hand, slicing and dicing. Tron could not find room to attack; rather, was forced to keep backing away, as her sword cut relentlessly through the air in swift motions.

"I will kill you, and I will hang your broken disc in the sky for all to see! I will play your moment of destruction on loop so every city in the Grid can watch you die on repeat!" Wisteria screamed. "As an example to those stupid enough to try and test me! I will squash this rebellion, all starting with seeing you derezzed at my feet!"

The sword swung too close to his face. His foot slipped. Tron felt dizzy with a sudden grip of fear. As her sword came down over him, he knew he was - That this was -

"_No_!"

Wisteria blinked, shocked. The sword cut Tron's hand clean from his wrist with a small splatter of data. Tron ignored the pain, used his arm to knock the sword from her fingers. His second hand reached out, grabbing for her. His fingers dug into her facial mask, ripped; Wisteria gasped and quickly scampered back, but not before he elbowed her in the gut.

Wisteria gasped in pain. She swayed to the side before falling to her knees, bending forward and cradling her stomach. Tron sat there a moment, breathing heavily, glaring at the nub in place of his hand. He closed his eyes, willed down the pain and tremors, before picking up Wisteria's fallen katana and slowly standing.

Tron stared down at the Program. She had gone quiet now, her groans and growls subsiding. She was still, eerily so. Tron swallowed, but remained in place. He held out her sword, pointed its edge at her face only a few inches apart.

"Well?"

Tron twitched at Wisteria's voice. Croaking; weak, tired. Angry.

"What are you waiting for?"

Tron watched as Wisteria slowly lifted her hand. She touched the mask hanging from shreds on her face. Bitterly, she yanked the remains off, tossing them to the ground. And when she looked up to meet eyes with Tron, everything fell instantly quiet and lifeless.

Tron felt as if he had been sucker punched square in the chest. He stepped back a foot, his shock overwhelming his entire system. He could hear a pounding like a heart beating in his ears, eyes wide with awe and horror. He blinked once, twice, before forcing himself to look Wisteria in the face again. A tremble shook the sword in his hand at what he saw; though the emotions nearly paralyzed him, he had managed to whisper one strained word to Wisteria.

"_Yori_...?"

* * *

T/B/C

* * *

**A/N**:

The viral data Wisteria used on herself to protect her from the Z-Lot comes from the virus Abraxas, the main antagonist in TRON: Evolution. A sliver of one of his discs was recovered by Clu in the game. In this story, Clu kept it locked away, but Wisteria knew of its location, hence how she was able to find/use it.

Eva's transformation into a monster is also canon in 2.0; under different circumstances, of course. Her monstrous appearance is both a mix of her canon monster form as well as my own take. For visual aide, check out the FCon Monster article on the Tron wiki.

For anyone possibly wondering, yes, Tron still has two discs. I think it's fine that he only used one, though, but I do plan to have him use both again in future chapters.


	11. Chapter 10

Today is the 30th anniversary of Tron! So, to celebrate, here's chapter 10 of Revolution. uvu

Enjoy! Again, please excuse any grammatical errors and the like.

* * *

"Well, that escalated quickly."

Sam and Quorra led Shaddox and his men outside the stadium, where most of the fighting was taking place.

"The others will keep Wisteria's army distracted," Quorra reassured. "Hope Jet and the others are okay..."

"Kernel's with them. Mercury's pretty damn strong. Jet's the only one I'm worried about... But. Jet's a stubborn idiot who doesn't know how to quit. They'll be just fine."

"Why don't we stay and fight?" a Rebel asked.

Sam shook his head. "This was suppose to be just a rescue operation. I know we've all ready lost a handful of men. Can't afford to lose anymore." He gestured the group around a corner.

Shaddox glanced at Sam. "Do you know how many causalities there's been?"

"Too many."

The group moved through a series of alleys before Quorra and Sam held back their hands, everyone stopping. The two peered out of the alley, into the open. A Recognizer was humming, flying low just above the street, herald by four rows of black guards and sentries. Sam pulled Quorra back, and they faced their companions.

"Looks like more reinforcements are on their way," Sam mumbled.

"Anyway we can elude them?"

Quorra shook her head. "The only way out is across this street." She pointed to the alley adjacent of them. "We're gonna have to risk it."

"How many are there?" Shaddox asked.

Quorra peered outside the alley, one second, five, pulled back. "From the top of my head," she replied, "I count maybe... twenty? Thirty? And who knows how many in the Recognizer."

Shaddox counted the heads of his men. "We can overpower them, definitely," he said, "but I rather we didn't."

"Why not, boss?"

"As Sam said," Shaddox answered, "right now, we cannot afford to lose anymore soldiers." He clenched his jaw. "We should split into two teams. One will handle the soldiers, and the others will head to the rendezvous point."

"That's a good idea," Sam agreed. He gestured the Rebels closer. "I'll take group one. Quorra, Shaddox, you lead group two."

Quorra frowned. "Are you sure, Sam?"

"I'll take forty guys with me," he smirked, "I think we can handle 'em."

"It's settled then," Shaddox said. "All who volunteer, step forward. Quickly, now!"

Though some were hesitant, it didn't take long before forty Rebels scuttled up and around Sam. Quorra gestured the rest over to her side. "Once we're out there, once we've got everyone engaged," Sam said to Quorra and Shaddox, "you make a run for it."

"Shouldn't one of us come back?" Shaddox suggested.

"Just get to the rendezvous point," Sam ordered, "and, if we're not there in fifteen minutes, send another group in. Not to fight, but to pick up any survivors."

"Fifteen minutes, Sam," Quorra insisted, thrusting a finger against his chest, "no more, no less."

Sam smiled. "Trust me. I doubt we'll take that long."

"Always so smug, you."

The sound of the soldiers and Recognizer were closing in. The two groups separated, Sam moving ahead of the rest. He looked down the street; just a few yards. He glanced back to his men, held up a fist. They waited with baited breath, quickly equipping their weapons. After everyone was settled, Sam looked to Quorra one last time. She nodded, and so did he. Sam then threw his fist forward.

The sentries came to a sudden halt at the loud roaring nearby. The Recognizer halted with a small jerk. A split second later, Rebels led by Sam came pouring out of the alley, running at the guards with weapons raised and discs flying. The guards instantly recovered from their shock and charged after them.

The two forces clashed, knocking each other over. Sam's scanned the group, the number of people; he pushed and punched soldiers away as he ran through the crowd. He tapped the shoulder of six Rebels as he passed, and they pulled back from the fight to follow him. The Recognizer was rumbling, heading for the skies. It was nearly ten feet off the ground before Sam pounced, just barely gripping the edge of one foot. Two of the six Rebels jumped on as well; they quickly reached out and took their comrades' hands, pulling them up with them with some effort and strain.

As soon as all six Programs were on the Recognizer, they proceeded to climb up its length, heading for the cockpit inside. The Recognizer was thirty feet off the ground now, floating above the battle below. Sam stopped to look down; the soldiers were all occupied. He turned his eyes to the alley, where Quorra and the others were watching him. With an affirmative wave of his hand, the second group darted out of the alley and across the street, heading for the rendezvous point.

Sam peered up into the invisible flooring of the Recognizer. He could see nine guards inside, all growling at him. Yanking the disc off his back, he bashed it against the floor. It took a few repeated hits before it finally yielded. With one final slug, the floor cracked open into a hole. A guard reached out to grab Sam; Sam pried his fingers off the front of his suit, took him by the wrist and yanked. The guard shrieked as he was pulled out of the hole, increasing its size, and sent flying down to the ground almost sixty feet away.

A Rebel screeched as a soldier managed to thrust his light bo from out of the hole and into his side, derezzing him. His remains hit the face of the Rebel beneath him; with a gasp, the Rebel's grip slipped, sending him falling. Sam cursed, but kept climbing, letting the remaining Rebels deal with the guards. He headed up toward the cockpit before the Recognizer gave a powerful lurch to the side. It dislodged another Rebel, as well as the guard trying to pry him off. Sam felt his body jolt and fly back; his fingers scrambled before he got hold of the Recognizer again, clinging tight.

Sam crawled up and over the screen of the cockpit. The pilot screamed at him, yanked the Recognizer aside again. Sam pounded at the glass; his foot slipped, sending his legs dangling over the side of Recognizer. He looked down, a Rebel fighting disc to disc with a guard hanging out of the passenger hole.

Suddenly, the front window of the cockpit flipped open with a flash of light. The pilot bent forward to look down; Sam grabbed his face with one hand, pulled him out and over his head. The pilot choked on his cry, catching Sam's foot and hanging on. The User grunted, the extra weight loosening his grip. The pilot continued to scream obscenities, as the Recognizer now mowed uncontrollably through the clouds.

"Get off!" Sam cursed, shoving his heel repeatedly into the pilot's face. The bastard held on tight, however. The Recognizer was getting closer toward the ground, about to crash; before Sam could think of shaking the pilot off, the Rebel hanging nearby tossed his disc, slicing the pilot in two. As soon as he was nothing but scraps of data, Sam grunted and pulled himself up into the cockpit, his muscles aching with strain. He rolled over the console and steering wheel, hitting the ground.

It took Sam a moment to collect his wits before he pushed himself back on his feet. He threw himself over the steering wheel; the shriek alerted him, and when he looked up, the Recognizer was about to crash into the street. "Fuck!" Sam grabbed the wheel and yanked it back with all his might; the vehicle groaned and gears hissed as it was abruptly pulled back. He could hear muffled cries, hoping to God it was the soldiers falling out; kept pulling back the wheel, teeth grit, neck muscles tense, fingers knuckle white and shaking. The Recognizer shook and rattled violently as the edge of one leg scraped along the ground, dragging apart gravel for a good ten feet. Sam winced, more so out of embarrassment. With another lurch, the Recognizer finally lifted back off the ground, soaring upward, until Sam was practically about to fall over on his back.

Once high enough, Sam thrust the wheel forward, forcing the Recognizer into a straight position. He paused to breathe, wiping sweat from his forehead. He glanced down at the console. "Okay okay you know how to run this okay okay," he muttered breathlessly to himself. His fingers ran over the command console, its red and yellow circuitry instantly turning blue and white. It only took a few seconds and some tweaking before the Recognizer settled on smooth auto-pilot.

Sam massaged his temples. "I need a drink," he grumbled. He went to look out the window, see if his companions were still clinging to the Recognizer. However, the hatch door to the passenger cabin below swung open, and a sentry climbed in. Sam whirled around, meeting shocked gazes.

Sam cracked a smile. "Your flight's gonna be a little delayed."

The guard shrieked and charged.

Whipping off his disc, Sam met the guard half way. Their weapons clashed, back and forth, the two working around in circles. Sam stumbled, nearly falling into the open hatch door. He chanced a look down; only a few guards, one currently duking it out with a Rebel. The sentry jumped forward, the two working a circle around the small cockpit. Sam continued deflecting the Program's staff with his disc, neither injuring the other.

The guard struck Sam upside the shoulder. The User went stumbling with a pained growl. He quickly deflected a second attack, pushing the guard back. He looked down, spotted the hatch door again. The Rebel poked his head through the door, watched the two with wide eyes; when Sam spotted him, he mouthed something and gestured him over. Sam blinked, nearly risking another hit; however, he soon understood what the Rebel was suggesting. He nodded and then threw himself at the guard, slicing his chest.

Sam continued mindlessly flailing, forcing the guard to back up, farther and farther. Once near the hatch door, the Rebel grabbed the guard's ankles. The guard looked down, surprised; when he next looked up, Sam knocked the staff out of his hand. The guard attempted to move, but the Rebel held him firmly in place. Sam then thrust his disc into his face, and the guard derezzed with a small gurgle.

Sam stepped back, stumbled, and fell tiredly against the wheel. He inhaled, exhaled, wiping more sweat from his face. The Rebel once again poked his head through the hatch door, grinning ear to ear.

"That was fun," he chirped excitedly.

Sam gave a breathy laugh. "But let's not do it again, okay?"

* * *

III

* * *

Kevin's crew had just arrived the moment Quorra and Shaddox's group reached the rendezvous point. Quorra watched as the Fighter landed next to their ship. She ran to the door; it opened a second later, Vulcan's blank face right in hers.

Quorra squeaked and jumped back. "S-Sorry," she apologized with a small titter.

Vulcan moved aside, and Kevin climbed out of the ship. "Good to see you made it, missy!" He reached out, patting her shoulders. He looked to the others nearby; upon spotting Shaddox, he beamed. "'Dox!"

Shaddox grinned crookedly as the User leaped out of the plane and ran over to give him a big hug. "Nice to see you too, Flynn," he chortled, hugging back tiredly. "Kernel didn't mention you in his message, but I knew - I sensed you were here. That you never quite left us."

"Can't keep a good man down. Not even death!" Kevin let him go and stepped back. "I'm glad you're still with us, buddy!" he said. "I was worried you were a goner."

"Not yet," Shaddox said, "and hopefully, not for a long while." He waved over his men. "Programs, this is Kevin Flynn. I don't think you need a proper introduction."

The Rebels were all bright-eyed and gaping at the sight of the famous User and Creator. "Autographs come later," Kevin snickered, throwing up his hands. "Right now, we need t'get you boys an' girls back to Divide!"

"Yes, sir!"

Quorra helped the Programs into the ships. Kevin turned back to Shaddox, his smile weakening. "Linx...?"

Shaddox frowned. He shook his head.

Kevin looked away, wilting a little. He took a deep breath, forced back on his smile. "Well, at least you made it out okay," he said and patted Shaddox's arm. "We're really gonna need your help, and all the help we can get."

"We are expecting more, including Sam, within fifteen minutes," Shaddox added. He glanced around. "Where are the others?"

"Kernel, Mercury, and Jet are raiding Wisteria's weaponry. Said they'd be here soon. Tron's on the battlefield." Kevin winced. "Hey, is Sam all right? Was he wounded or anything?"

"Not that I noticed."

Kevin sighed with relief. "Good," he said, biting the corner of his bottom lip, "though, uh, maybe some of us should go get him and the others." He laughed. "Before they come crashing down from the - "

"Watch out!"

The roaring howl of an engine smothered Quorra's warning. The two whipped around, just as the giant Recognizer covered in Programs came crashing down. Its legs hit the ground with a loud tremble, sending up glass and gravel. Shaddox quickly caught Kevin before he could fall over. The Recognizer's engine quieted as it settled; everyone looked up, still wide eyed.

The Programs attached to the outside of the Recognizer climbed and jumped down. A few more crawled out of the hole in the second compartment. Shaddox quickly went to greet them, checking for injuries. The cockpit open with a thud, and Sam popped into view.

Kevin exhaled loudly, touching his chest. His heart was beating a mile a minute. "Boy," he breathed, smiling weakly, "I just came back to life like a day ago, I'd rather not die of a heart attack so soon."

"Is this everyone?" Shaddox asked, pointing to his men loading on the ships.

Sam shook his head. "No," he said, "a few couldn't fit. 'Bout ten of 'em. But they're on their way. Made sure they weren't followed."

"Why don't you let Quorra take the Recognizer to pick up the stragglers?" Kevin suggested.

"I'm gonna head back to the battlefield, see if I can find Tron and anyone else still on the battlefield," Sam replied. He crawled back into the cockpit.

Kevin fussed. "You be careful! With the way you're driving..."

"Yeah, well, you had me worried sick, too!" Sam sat back in the pilot's seat. "Next time, call and check in, okay?" The cockpit door flashed and closed, and soon the Recognizer was humming and rumbling again, lifting slowly off the ground.

Kevin watched the Recognizer disappear into the dormant storm clouds. "Just like his mother," he murmured, gave a small 'pfft'. "Always nagging."

* * *

III

* * *

Tron wasn't sure if it was his mind or eyes playing tricks on him. His coding - his coding was still catching up, still suffering from minor glitches and memory relapse. This could all be an illusion, a trick; he'd lost control, and the anger - the anger was making him see things.

It was impossible. Completely inconceivable.

Yet, it was highly possible, and the more he thought about it, the more likely it could be.

Tron suddenly felt extremely dizzy.

"Yori?"

Her voice pulled him back to the surface, drowning in his confusion and shock. Tron swallowed a lump tight in his throat, staring down at... Wisteria? Yori? She had her face, her beautiful face, though it was ruined with the darkness her blue, blue eyes harbored.

"Yori... You're Yori," Tron breathed, his chest constricting.

Wisteria blinked, then frowned. "I know no one by that name," she said firmly. She slowly gathered to her feet, but Tron did not move. Disc still pointed now at Wisteria's abdomen. "Perhaps," she hummed, pushing golden hair from out of her eyes and face. She smiled wickedly, something that was not part of Yori. Not the Yori he knew. "Your programming is glitching again?"

In a flash of light, Yori moved; Tron saw a flash of black and gold slip past him. Whipped around. Wisteria had recovered her disc, arm thrown back. Before she could attack, Tron raised his hands and disc, in a show of surrender. "Wait!" he shouted.

Wisteria wrinkled her nose, but kept still. "Are you surrendering, Tron?" she asked. "Finally realized you're fighting a losing war, have you?"

Tron frowned, his bright eyes pleading. "Please, just listen to me, for just one moment," he begged. "I don't want to fight you. I... I don't know what happened to you, but..." He swallowed again. "I know it's you, Yori. It's not a glitch in my coding."

Wisteria snorted. "Just what are you trying to pull?" she snapped. "Because it won't work!" She threw her arm forward, disc flying at Tron.

Tron quickly moved aside; the disc flew past him. He jumped aside again as it returned. Wisteria caught it with a low growl. "If you're not going to fight me, Tron, then I suggest surrendering," she ordered.

"I will not surrender," Tron insisted, "but I will not fight you." He took one cautious step forward. "Yori, whatever's wrong with you, I - Kevin can fix - "

"Shut up!" Wisteria spat. She tossed her disc at him again, only for Tron to bash it aside with his own. "I am not Yori! I am Wisteria! And I am your enemy!" She snatched her disc mid-air and charged. Tron used his disc as a shield as she dove her weapon against it. Wisteria pushed, trying to break through the barrier. Her eyes flickered when she met Tron's pitiful gaze, and it only further infuriated her. With a grunt, she stepped back, slicing her disc along Tron's.

"If you won't fight me and you won't surrender," Wisteria snapped, "then do us both a favor, and derezz yourself."

Tron shook his head. "Listen, Yori - "

"_I am not Yori!_" Wisteria shrieked. She came at him a third time, and for a moment, he seemed to be fighting back. Though all his maneuvers were defensive. Pausing a moment, she deliberately slipped, allowing an opening for Tron. It would only result in a small wound, but she had to test him - He knew there was an opening, but he didn't take it. Wisteria scowled with disappointment and disgust, bashing her disc repeatedly against his. "Is this how you wish to die, Tron?_A spineless, delusional imbecile_?"

Tron knocked her disc away. "He did something to you - Clu did," he said, blocking her return attack. "Just like me - just like me, he corrupted your coding," and oh God, the sickness and anger at the idea of Clu having put Yori through the same pain as him... "Listen to me!" He shoved her back, disc against disc. "The reason we've been so hesitant, the reason we're acting so strangely around one another - it's because of our bond, Yori! You recognize me on a subconscious level, I know you do!"

Wisteria sliced her disc across his chest, ripping apart more armor. "You expect me to believe such nonsense!" Her disc screeched against his. "You are trying to play me for a fool! What do you take me for!" She turned, throwing her weight against Tron, shoving him back. Reached for his disc. "How dare you insult my intelligence with your flimsy attempts at - !"

Tron dropped his disc. The act shocked Wisteria enough to pause her attack for his other hand. Suddenly, his fingers gripped her arm and pulled her against his chest. Her eyes widened, circuits flaring with indescribable emotions. Tron held her close, though his hand was shaking. Breathing, he closed his eyes, her hair soft against his cheek. "Please," he whispered, voice strained, "please remember me, Yori."

Wisteria felt a ripple run through her circuitry. For a moment, her entire being was engulfed with a sensation that both felt familiar, yet alien. Her circuits flickered, their bright orange and yellow softening into something calm. Her fingers loosened around her disc, eyes lidded.

"Tron," she whispered in a quiet rasp.

Tron said nothing, just held her.

"You're so pathetic."

Tron grunted as her elbow thrust into his gut. She yanked her arm free, whipped around. A moment later, she had him locked in her arms, slamming him back into a suplex. Tron coughed, his single shaky hand and broken arm rolling himself onto his back. He opened his eyes, peering up into Wisteria's dark glower. Her disc burned in her hand.

Tron stared at her a moment before shaking his head. "Go on then," he murmured, closing his eyes, "kill me."

"I intend to," Wisteria snorted. She lifted her disc. Wound her arm back. Aimed for his throat. Tron kept his eyes closed, did not move an inch, did not fight back. Wisteria readied herself, frown pulled back tight. A second past, then another; five seconds, ten seconds, and yet she did nothing. Disc still ready to kill, but her arm frozen in place.

For whatever reason, the way Tron laid there, accepting defeat, looking so... calm... As if he knew she wouldn't hurt him... Wisteria grit her teeth, brows furrowing. The disc shook in her grip. It was as if she were physically unable to kill him. The very idea seemed almost wrong. His head was tilted back, displaying his throat; he was baiting her. Here was her chance to finish him off, to take out one of the key players in this game. With Tron dead, the Rebels' chance of victory would drop considerably.

And yet.

The disc's circuits softened with a hum. Tron slowly opened his eyes. He looked up; Wisteria stood board straight now, disc back at her side. "I refuse to kill you like this," she spat. "At least make your death something honorable. At least die with some dignity."

Tron frowned. "I won't fight you, Yori, no matter what you do, no matter what you say."

Wisteria's fists clenched, the leather squeaking in her grip. "If that is how you feel," she said, darkly, "then I will not be the one to kill you." She raised her arm, a holographic image of Rome popping open from her wrist.

Rome looked shocked. "Wisteria!" he cried. "You're alive!"

"What is the status of my men?" Wisteria demanded, keeping her eyes locked on Tron.

"Oh, it's a total mess! While we've taken out a number of Rebels, we've also lost a good amount of our own men. Not only by the enemy soldiers, but that strange monster, too; it's killing and destroying everything in sight! Not to mention, I've been unable to get in contact with Malvir, and it seems a few others have been having the same problem."

Wisteria growled at the mention of her treacherous second in command. "Nevermind him," she said coldly, "what is the status of the Users?"

"Edward and Crown? They ran off. We don't know where to. Probably the portal. Just got word that there were more of those strange energy fluctuations in the tower. And a few Rebels - Kernel included - have managed to break inside; we're not sure why, but they've taken out all the guards they've come in contact with. But besides that, most of the Rebels have retreated after rescuing the captives!"

Wisteria grit her teeth. "Keep fighting," she ordered, "kill every Rebel on sight. Send a group to tail after anyone who escapes; tell them if they don't come back with the location of the Rebels' base, then don't bother coming back at all."

"Y-Yes, ma'am. As for - "

"Make sure Kernel and his men don't leave the tower!" Wisteria interjected. "As for the Users... Kill the female; she's too dangerous. Send a group after their portal; make sure no one gets in or out. If you intercept Edward and any of his colleagues," her eyes darkened, "kill them. Take no prisoners."

"As you command. What about Malvir and - "

Wisteria snarled, "I said _forget _Malvir!" She looked back at Tron, still remaining put. "I need you to send a group of six - no, make that eight - to these coordinates." She half-grinned. "I have Tron in my custody."

* * *

III

* * *

Octet flew high above the carnage and chaos. He knew when it was best to stay out of the way, intervening only when necessary. Still, he tried to keep an eye on the place. "What a mess," he scowled at all the ruin and spilled data. He flitted and took higher to the skies, spotting a Recognizer on the horizon; it was about to crash before clumsily taking off again. He just hoped everything was okay with Sam and Quorra's group.

The byte continued flying around the stadium, like a vulture waiting to feast on the remains after it was all over. Most of his comrades had retreated, once Sam announced the prisoners were freed. Some stayed behind to keep the guards from following. Good thing, however, that not many of them managed to get past the Rebels; Octet was sure those who managed to pursue the prisoners would not get very far, either.

Most of the battle took place now between the black guards and... Octet wasn't sure what to call them. They seemed to appear out of nowhere in droves. Fighting Rebels and Wisteria's guards attempting to attack Edward and his employees. "Bugs?" he murmured, tilting his entire body; watched the DataWraiths mow through their enemies, only for those who died to just... poof. Disappear. Strange form of deresolution.

The monster that was once a User was causing most of the ruckus and damage. Though she seemed a mindless beast hellbent on destroying everything around her, she did not attack the strange Wraiths. Left them alone, as if they were almost her comrades. Speaking of which, Octet buzzed after Edward and Crown, fleeing from the scene. He stayed a safe distance; didn't want to get shot with that Z-Lot that was ensuring them a safe getaway. They still had guards tailing them, but they were careful as not to get too close either.

Octet thought about chasing after the Users. Locating their portal. However, just as he contemplated flying in a little closer and out of the clouds, he spotted a strange, but familiar flick of color and life outside the stadium. Octet froze, spun around.

A mountain of debris from the stadium separated the city from the battlefield. Very carefully, very uneasily, a small creature hustled and slunk about, full of curiosity. About the size of a small animal, eight legged, green with a cycloptic eye - "A bug?" he murmured, turning a soft blue. He tilted again, watching the inquisitive little creature. Although gridbugs were quite common on the Grid - and any system for that matter - it had been nearly a cycle since Octet last saw one.

The gridbugs were rampant shortly after Clu's destruction, the re-integration between Clu and Kevin causing major data malfunctions and glitches. The 'bugs practically gushed from the fresh ruins in dozens. Still, they were exterminated quickly; it took nearly a cycle to wipe them out, and as the months dwindled, so did their numbers, until finally a 'bug would only show itself once every week or two.

A year of absolutely no gridbugs, and now, out of nowhere... Octet flitted side to side. The twinkle and flashing of his colors caught the 'bug's attention. It blinked at the byte before quickly scuttling off, down an alley into the city. "No way, no way," he grumbled. His tiny body constricted; then, with a grunt, he popped out a small bit. "Follow that gridbug," he ordered, "see where it goes."

The bit turned blue. "Yes," it said, then took off.

A gridbug was the least of his troubles right now, but it was always best to tie up loose ends no matter the situation. However, this cost him dearly - Octet remembered what he had been doing before spying on the spying gridbug. He twirled; Edward and Crown were nowhere in sight, most likely having reached their portal and returned to the real world by now.

"Frag!" Octet whined. He leaped back and forth, shifting between blue and red. "Frag frag frag!"

Octet quickly calmed himself. Right, right - It was about time he met up with the others anyway. Octet flipped around and headed back for the battlefield. The User monster was still fighting, but there were less of the DataWraiths now. Still no sign of Tron or Wisteria - he prayed Tron finished the crazy broad off and was back at the rendezvous point.

Octet hummed as he flew toward Wisteria's fortress. He slowed down until he floated before the massive viewing window of the middle tower. Could not seen within; supposed it was a one-sided window. "Hurry up, you guys," he grumbled, idling at the window.

Inside the fortress, guards were pursuing the intruders. Mercury and Jet had separated from Kernel, the two evading trouble so far.

They walked quickly and cautiously down an empty corridor. Mercury was ahead, checking the hologram projected from her disc. "Should be coming up to the weaponry next turn," she said, looking up. She closed the hologram, disc clutched like a blade to her chest.

Jet took a deep breath. "Let's just get the weapons and go," he grumbled. "This place is starting to make me uncomfortable."

Mercury smirked. "Don't pass out on me, User."

The two turned the corner, moving into the next hall. At the very end, the door to the weaponry. Two guards had been posted there, waiting; just when the two thought they had it easy, a flock of guards emerged from around another corner, standing between them and their goal. The guards silently raised their discs and swords.

Jet looked to Mercury. "Well, I mean," he said, shrugging, "we knew it wasn't going to be easy, right? But I'm still disappointed."

From what Mercury could see, at least the guards weren't carrying any guns.

With a flick of his hand, the rod in Jet's hand lit up, releasing a discharge of energy. Mercury and Jet ran into battle; the guards quickly separated, forcing the two into a circle. Mercury and Jet quickly threw themselves back to back, moving in a constant circle, weapons at the ready. Without another word, the guard's commander threw a hand forward; his men charged.

Jet thrust the edge of his prod into the first guard's stomach, stopping him; quickly thrust it between his legs and, with a grunt, hefted the flailing guard up and over his head. The first guard soared above the others, crashing out the window with a scream. Mercury slashed her disc left and right, deflecting a double attack from two discs. Managed to knock the disc from the second guard's hands, shoved away the the third; she stomped forward, breaking away from Jet momentarily, thrusting the second guard's own disc through his throat, holding the third guard back. Turned and quickly used both discs to fight now.

Jet struck his prod against the fourth guard's sword much like a blade. They bounced against one another, one hit after the other after the other. Jet threw up his leg, kicked the fourth guard's hand; the katana hit the floor, and he shoved the prod into the fourth guard's face, electrifying and derezzing him. Mercury had just finished the third guard before a disc came flying at her. She slapped it aside with the third guard's disc, then tossed it. The fifth guard caught his disc, only for his deceased's comrade's to take out one of his arms.

They continued moving in circles, trading off opponents. Just as the sixth guard swung a blade over Mercury, Jet was in her place, deflecting it with his prod. When Jet was open for an attack, Mercury spun around, decking the seventh guard in the face before finishing him off.

Despite being outnumbered, the two had taken very little damage. Jet had been hit in the shoulder and knee, and Mercury suffered from a cut along her cheek and blow to her abdomen. Still, it was nothing compared to the damage they had inflicted; they'd taken out nearly half their attackers.

As Jet turned his prod around to use as a he shield, he peered over his shoulder at Mercury with a smile. "Hey!" he laughed. "We make a pretty good team!"

Mercury grabbed a guard's hand, twisted it. Shoved him at another. "You're just now figuring that out?" she chortled.

Jet's face turned pink. The prod nearly fell from his hand before he quickly swung it upright again. "Y-You think so?" he stammered loudly.

"Think what?"

"That we're a - we're a great team?"

Mercury grunted, kicking away a guard. "Yeah?" she said, sounding confused but hardly distracted. "I thought it was - " She gasped when the guard she kicked grabbed her leg, yanked her onto the floor. She pulled her foot free, pushed herself up; wide eyes regard the guard about to slam his disc through her chest -

Jet threw himself over the Program, using his prod to deflect the disc. He shoved the guard back and off, before standing again and thrusting out his weapon. A volt of energy hit the guard's head; helmet cracked with a snap as the guard fell over. Jet quickly scanned the area; three guards left, slowly backing away. The guards stationed at the weaponry door remained firmly in place.

Mercury sat up with a grunt, adjusting her helmet. When she looked up, Jet was holding his hand out to her with a big smile. "Obvious?" he finished for her. Mercury blinked then laughed; she took his hand and he pulled her back on her feet. The two turned to face the remaining guards.

Their leader, standing in the middle, snarled something, pointed left then right. The guards at his side took off, practically running up the walls. Jet and Mercury turned to follow. The guards threw both their discs. Mercury and Jet quickly shielded themselves, giving the leader of the group a chance to jump in between them. Jet screamed with pain as the commander's disc tore into his back, cutting deep into his flesh. Blood splattered, hitting Mercury. She gasped, wide eyed, before the commander shoved her down.

The commander planted his foot against her solar plexus, pinning her down. Mercury growled, went to slice off his leg with her disc; he kicked it out of her hand with his free foot. Exchanged disc for katana. Jet quickly forgot about his pain; turning, he saw the guard bring his blade down on Mercury. For a moment, the world went silent, dread overcoming the User; he went to help his comrade, only for the remaining guards to quickly latch onto his arms, forcing him back.

Mercury watched as the blade lowered, reflected double in her glassy eyes.

"Mercury!" Jet screeched, struggling in the guards' arms. He threw himself forward, heaving. "_Mercury_!"

Mercury closed her eyes. The warmth of the blade dangerously close. She raised her hand, grabbed the side of her helmet - With a shriek, she ripped off her helmet, quickly using it to block the katana. It cut clean through the helmet, data sprinkling between them. It was a surprise enough, just enough, for Mercury to reach up and grab the commander's wrist. He tried to pull his hand free, but she held on tight; he refused to let go of the blade, hovering near Mercury's face but unable to get any closer.

The commander snarled and lifted his second foot; twisted around just enough to shove his boot into her throat. Mercury gasped; even as his heel dug into her throat, she refused to let go, one hand still holding back the killing hand, the other now grabbing and clawing at his boot.

Jet felt a surge of fury break through his fear. Watching her struggle, he could see she was weakening. Mercury managed to meet his gaze, her eyes tired, but determined, teeth grit and bared and all her force pushing the commander back to keep herself alive. Hot rage swelled in Jet's chest; he felt it burst just as he yanked one arm free of a guard's grip. Nearly cost pulling it from his socket, but the adrenaline kept him from feeling any pain. He quickly punched the second guard in the face, successfully freeing himself. Didn't waste time with them; gathered his prod from the ground and ran at the Program holding Mercury down.

The commander looked back at Jet's furious cry. Watched the prod swing before connecting with his neck. The combined strength and energy cleanly knocking his head off his shoulders. It went flying, burst into data once it hit the ground. The body remained firm, standing upright, convulsing; with another snarl, Jet thrust his prod through the headless corpse, shattering it completely.

Jet quickly went to handle the remaining soldiers. Took one down with ease; however, with his back turned, the remaining guard advanced. He screamed as Mercury threw her disc, bisecting him just as Jet turned to realize he was there. Didn't miss a beat to quickly run to Mercury's side.

"Are you okay?" Jet breathed, feeling a little dizzy. He knelt beside her, helped her to a sit.

Mercury groaned and rubbed her throat. "Yeah," she rasped, eyes squinting. She gave Jet a somewhat forced smile. "Mmokay."

Jet grinned, instantly relieved. "Good," he murmured, "good..."

"We were hoping they could take care of you for us."

Mercury and Jet felt their muscles stiffen; they quickly looked up, down the hall. The guards at the door were smiling, having not even moved an inch.

"Fine job they did, huh?" Jet sneered, wiping off his face.

"We have to give them credit," the first guard said. A second later, he and his comrade were cocking a pair of guns. Mercury groaned. "They will not die in vain, however."

"What are you gonna do with those BB guns, huh?" Jet snorted. He hoped maybe, just maybe... "I'm a User." He smirked. "That shit don't work on me."

The guards tilted their heads. They looked to each other, then back at the User and Rebel. "Then certainly there is no harm to you if we see for ourselves," the second guard gibed.

"But your friend will certainly die."

"Too bad."

Mercury screamed as the guards each fired a shot. She moved just in time to miss the first blow, pushing Jet over from the second. She burst to her feet, running at the guards. They quickly turned both guns on her, fired; Mercury jumped aside, the bullets of Z-Lot just an inch off from grazing her arm and hip. They fired two more shots, but she dove forward, rolling along the ground, before leaping up and standing between them. The guards looked at her, shocked.

Mercury twisted around, threw her back against the first guard; grabbed his hand, hoisted it up. Gun pointed at his comrade's head, she squeezed, forcing the first guard to pull the trigger. The second guard derezzed instantly. The first, and now last, guard managed to wrench his arm free, shove Mercury off; she stumbled before flipping, landing on her feet and swinging around. The guard pointed his gun -

Jet slammed the prod into his hand, destroying it; the gun hit the ground with a loud clak. Jet punched him in the jaw once, twice, forcing him scampering backwards. One final hit to the face, and the guard was thrown through the window.

For a few precious moments, the two stood there in complete silence, breathing, steadying themselves. Outside, the cries of battle flooded in through the two broken windows. Jet swallowed and thrust his prod into the ground, using it for support to lean on. Mercury checked the extent of her injuries on her disc; nothing too worrisome. She quickly placed it back in her plug, ignoring the tremor in her hand, before moving over to the guns lying still on the ground.

Mercury squatted, eying the strange weapons. She reached out a gloved hand, slowly - "Don't!" Mercury jerked back, looked up; Jet was waving her away, looking tired. "Don't touch it," he grumbled, "we don't know what it'll do. Might backfire."

"Shouldn't we at least take one?" Mercury suggested.

Jet bit his bottom lip. "I want to, trust me... But it's still too risky."

"Can we... Can we pick it up with something else?"

Jet thought a moment. He glanced at the door to the weaponry. His eyebrows lifted. "Maybe..." He quickly moved to the control panel on the door. The code itself was easy to hack, given Jet's experience, but it was practically nothing against his User skills. He need only punch in a couple buttons before the lock gave out. The door shimmered and disappeared in a flash of light. Jet carefully poked his head inside, checked for any signs of life.

"We're clear."

Mercury followed Jet into the weaponry room a moment later. It was filled from top to bottom with various weapons, most of which Jet had never seen before. His eyes twinkled. "Yeah," he chortled, picking up a handful of light katana batons, "I think we hit the jackpot."

"We should find something to put the Z-Lot in."

"Oh, right right."

Though most of the weapons were pretty standard, there were plenty of them. Mercury and Jet separated, taking on different ends of the room. Jet found discs that could split in two; Mercury found a baton that generated an energy blade shaped like a scythe. They continued digging through the treasure, collecting what they needed.

"Looks like we got a little more than we bargained for," Jet noted, nearly knocking over a pile of identity discs. "There's no way only the two of us can carry all this crap out."

"Kernel should be here soon."

"Kernel's a big guy, I'll give you that, but I doubt he'd - "

"Think I found something!"

Jet dropped the batons in their pile as he ran over to Mercury. He looked at the door as he passed it, down the hall. Still empty. "What'd you fi - " He turned his head back just as he bumped against Mercury. She was bent over some boxes, her rear pushed against his stomach. It took him a moment to realize what position they were in, and that his hands instinctively grabbed at the Program's hips when they hit.

Mercury glanced at him from over her shoulder. "Mind backing up?"

Jet's face turned rosy red. "S- Sorry!" His hands flew up into the air as if he had touched something hot, and he practically jumped back five feet.

Mercury chortled and stood upright, turning back around with something in her arms. She went to speak before she noticed the blush on his face. "Are you okay?" she asked, pointing. "You're turning colors."

Jet scowled. He rubbed his warm cheeks. "I, well, I - " He quickly pointed at the Program. "Well, so are you!"

Mercury blinked. When she looked down, a few of her circuits around her waist and hips were a soft violet. Instantly, this turned more of her circuits a blushing purple. "I- It's nothing! Just - just show's I'm tired, um, s'all..." She quickly cleared her throat, a User gestured she had picked up, and held out the object in her hands. "Do you think this will work?"

Jet swallowed and stepped forward. He took the large translucent box from her hands. "What is this?" he asked; it felt weightless.

"Prison cell," Mercury answered. "They come in a variety of sizes. Usually, bits or bytes are contained inside. This one, for instance, is used to hold maybe fifteen bits or five or so bytes. And given the right amount of pressure..." She reached out, pressing her hand against the box. Just enough for it to release a zap of electricity inside. Jet nearly dropped it, jumping. She quickly took it from his hands. "Harmless to us, but possibly fatal to its tiny prisoners..."

"So, you suggest we put the guns in there?" Jet pointed to the cell. "Use that to scoop it up with, too?"

"I guess so?" Mercury shrugged. "We might as well try. If the gun backfires, at least it will destroy the cell. Not us."

Jet smiled lopsidedly. "Well... Let's do it, I guess."

* * *

III

* * *

"Y-You have Tron!"

"Yes," Wisteria said, "and I believe he'll be quite useful, as far as information goes." She glared back at Rome's face. "Now! Dispatch my orders, and get that group here as soon as possible!" With that, she cut the transmission, the hologram disappearing in a wink. She gave a frustrated noise as she pinched the bridge of her nose.

"You won't win this, Yori," Tron said, "no matter what, you won't find the base. Your guards won't make it. Kernel's too strong - besides that, he's got the aide of a User."

"You need not concern yourself with my problems," Wisteria snorted. She fluttered a hand. "While your comrades may have rescued the prisoners, my army has still taken a considerable amount of your men. In the end, you left with less soldiers than you originally intended to gain." She smirked. "As for Kernel and this so-called User - you give my men such little credit. Rome may not know why they're inside, but it's obvious - they plan to raid my weaponry." Wisteria laughed, hand on her hip. "They're going to find it won't be so easy. I venture if security doesn't kill them, the guards posted at the door's surprise will. They've been equipped with their own Z-Lot, you see."

Tron narrowed his eyes. "I won't let you hurt them."

"Or you'll do what?" Wisteria guffawed. "You refuse to kill, let alone fight me!" She shook her head. "No. As long as your scrambled coding makes you think I'm this... Yori, you won't lift a finger against me. And since you insist on going out like a coward," she looked aside, "you can enjoy a painful, sound beating from my guards before they derezz you nice and slowly." Wisteria flicked hair from off her shoulder, turning up her nose. "That is, once I'm finished bleeding you dry of all the information I need."

"I don't intend to be your prisoner, Yori," Tron disagreed. He pushed himself to his feet, but Wisteria hardly felt threatened. "Because I'm going back," he said, giving her a firm look, "and _you're _coming with me."

Yori widened her eyes. A split second later, she grinned and broke out into pearls of laughter. "Oh, surely you jest!" she snorted. "Taking me to your base, are you really that daft? You're making this _somuch easier for me, that I'm actually missing the challenge!"_

"If I have to take you back by force, I will," Tron said. His expression and tone lightened. "You need help, Yori. You're... You're sick. You've been brainwashed. Kevin can help - "

"_Stop_- "

Tron grunted as his back hit the cold floor. A second later, Wisteria was straddling his hips, one hand pinning down his chest, the other holding her disc against his throat. "- Calling me _Yori_," she finished in a deep throated growl. She pushed the disc harder against his neck, drawing bits of data. "I try my best not to comply with my enemy's wishes, but you're getting very, very close to me killing you right now."

"Let me ask you something then," Tron said, remaining relaxed. He knit his brows together. "What do you remember of your life before you started working with Clu?"

Wisteria sneered. "I was an engineer."

"What was your job? Where did you live? Who were your friends, your closest companions?"

Wisteria squinted. "That's none of your business," she grumbled.

"Is it because you _can't remember_?" Tron demanded. "What is your first memory, Wisteria? Your first memory coming online. The last memory you had before Clu took you in_."_

Wisteria said nothing, but... Her first memory was shaking Clu's hand as he welcomed her aboard his army. She tried not to think about it, but yet... She never really thought about her past, actually. She never had any reason to. "I had a life before I joined Clu," she insisted. In her coding, she felt like she did - felt like she had a whole life before then. Yet when she tried to conjure the details, nothing came - the more she thought about it, the more her head began to hurt, as if digging and prying would only cause her pain.

"What life, Wisteria?"

Wisteria opened her eyes. Stared directly into Tron's. Felt that rush run through her system. It was hard keeping his gaze; she felt almost... ashamed. And that hesitation, that strange, ambiguous hesitation, that kept her from killing Tron not only once, but twice earlier... Tron could see it. She knew he could see it. He could see right through her insecurity and confusion, as if she were made of glass; this sickened and disgusted her, just enough for Wisteria to quickly end all second guessing and doubting.

Wisteria bent forward, until her lips nearly brushed with his. Tron's body shivered beneath her, and she was painfully aware she shivered as well. "You will die, Tron," she whispered in a soothing voice, "maybe not by my hand, but I will be there when your time comes. I will make sure you beg and scream for mercy before they finish you off."

Tron did not react. "No," he said, quietly, "because this is not how we end."

Suddenly, Tron's weight knocked against her's. The force enough for Wisteria to drop her disc from his throat. He flipped her over onto her back; before he could secure her in place, she threw her legs around his hips in a tight lock; one arm flew to lock around his head, free hand pushing them over, until Tron was once again on his back. Tron bucked, knocking her off; she flipped into a handstand, back onto her feet. Tron rolled, popped up face to face with her; he blocked her fist with a forearm, jerked his head aside from the blow. Before he could twist her arm behind her back, Wisteria threw herself back, yanking Tron along with her, before swinging her heel into his hip.

Tron released her and Wisteria jumped back. Charged and swung a fist, decking him in the jaw. He ducked for the second blow, pouncing to tackle her waist. With an _oomph_, she fell over, head bouncing painfully against the ground. She wrapped her legs around Tron again, attempting to roll him over, but he quickly pressed his knee into her stomach; one hand pinned down hers, his forearm holding down the other.

The two laid there, panting, staring, face to face.

"Are we done?" Tron asked, brows quirking.

Wisteria looked over Tron's shoulder, before she gave a bitter sneer. "Not even close."

Tron could hear their footfalls. He chanced a look back; people were running toward them.

"What are you going to do now, Tron?" Wisteria snickered. "You're outnumbered."

Tron squinted as the group moved in closer. When he noticed their colors, however... "Those aren't your men, Yori," he mumbled, and slowly climbed off her, "and they're not mine, either."

Wisteria blinked and pushed herself up into a sit; she looked to the approaching group, now stopping only a few feet away. Her eyes widened with shock.

* * *

III

* * *

"What is taking them so fraggin lo - eek!"

Octet shrieked when the window suddenly shattered; he flew back before any of the data shards could impale him. He instantly turned from red to blue at the sight of Kernel staring up at him from the hole he made. "You're taking your ti - " Octet fell silent, flickering, when he spotted one of those strange creatures swung like a rag doll over Kernel's shoulder. "What are you doing with _that_?"

"I got questions, its got answers," Kernel grumbled. He nodded outside. "Send in Cyber. I'm about to go collect the others."

Octet bobbed in the air. "Yes, sir!"

Kernel watched the byte take off before turning. He headed back out of the room, keeping his eyes peeled for guards. He'd all ready taken care of most of them. It seemed the guards situated inside the fortress were not equipped with those strange guns; just those out on the field. His map showed the place was empty, save him and his comrades. Judging by their blips on his radar, they had broken into the weaponry some minutes ago. Still, he had to keep a look out, one hand holding down the DataWraith slung over his shoulder, the other clutching tightly to his disc.

Kernel had made his way to the final floor, where he would meet up with Mercury and Jet. Just as he stepped out of the elevator, the Wraith on his shoulder gave a violent jolt. Kernel jumped aside; the Wraith fell onto the floor with a painful grunt. He stared at the strange creature as she groaned, rolling onto her back. As he went to apprehend her, she quickly sat up and threw herself back a few feet.

"What are you - why am I here!" the Wraith shrieked, studying her hands. "I should have returned to HQ!"

"I don't know what you are," Kernel growled, reaching down and easily taking her by the front of her electric purple and silver suit. Her glowing eyes widened. "But I want some answers." He pulled her face to face, his circuits burning hot against her cheeks. "Tell me what was in those guns. Tell me where you come from."

"I- I can't!" she cried. "I'll - I'll be fired - !"

Kernel tightened his grip, and she squeaked. "I don't know what you mean by 'fired', but I can guarantee I'll see you suffer something much worse if you don't answer me."

The Wraith swallowed. "I... I..." She widened her eyes again. "I wasn't... I was in stasis! I fell into stasis!" She scowled. "Mister Baza said it was possible, that if I wasn't careful I would - but I didn't think it'd happen. Just a glitch, just a stupid glitch, couldn't have..." She then realized the Program was staring at her with murderous desire. Slowly, a grin spread across her face. "I'm sorry, Mr. Program, but I can't help you."

"You want to stake your life on that?"

The Wraith giggled and gave his fist holding her by the suit a pat. "Maybe next time?" she purred. Her eyes lit up, and she spoke too fast for Kernel to stop her. "Execute failsafe dot e - x - e!"

Kernel grunted as the Wraith in his hand was suddenly engulfed in light. Jumping back, he threw his disc. The light and Wraith disappeared, the disc cutting through air where she once stood. Kernel stared at the empty space a moment. His reptilian face fell. "Ah," he growled, hand flying up and easily catching his disc, "frag."

Kernel gave the area one more look over before continuing onward. It didn't take long before he turned into the corridor where Mercury and Jet were waiting. "All right," he said, looking out a window, "the ship should be..." As he turned his head back, his words trailed off, and he stopped, until he was standing right in front of his two comrades.

Jet and Mercury were squatting together; Mercury held open a containment cell box, Jet clumsily using a lightcycle baton to try and push one of the guns inside it.

They stopped what they were doing to stare up at Kernel, who stared back. For a moment, it was very quiet, and then - "Do I even want to ask?" Kernel growled, folding arms over his chest.

"We're trying to get one of the guns in the box without touching it," Jet explained. "You know, just in case it backfi - "

Much to Jet and Mercury's horror, Kernel reached down and easily picked up the gun. Stood and placed it in the box. He explained before they could start flooding him with questions: "Don't worry. I held one earlier. The gun itself isn't dangerous." He pointed to the bulbs containing Z-Lot. "Just the ammo." He glowered at Jet. "As a User, I'd think you'd know this."

Jet sighed. "Look, this world, all this stuff, all these... people? Yeah, no, I may understand how some of this stuff works, but not all." He wagged a finger at the gun. "Hell if I knew what Dillinger's kid did with that! He had to program the gun out of something, you know? So he might have sabotaged it to self destruct or something in case it fell in the wrong hands." He snorted. "It's a completely logical, rational thing to do, and a completely logical, and rational suspicion to have. So, yeah, I _accept _your apology."

Kernel glared at Jet. Slowly cocked an eyebrow. Jet stared back, jaw clenched tight.

Mercury ran a hand through her short, spiky hair, sighing. "It's been a very, very, long - "

The bow of the Light Fighter crashed into the window, shards of data flying everywhere. Mercury and the others scampered away, shielding themselves from the debris. They looked up a moment later, as the cockpit door shimmered and opened. A young Program popped her head out and grinned.

"Oops," CyberPunk giggled, adjusting her visor, "hope they got insurance? Whatever that means..."

Kernel growled, feeling throbbing pain in his circuits. "Just... Start loading up the weapons," he ordered. Four others gathered out of the plane, helping Mercury, Jet, and Kernel load up the weapons. Kernel kept an eye out for any intruders from down the hall.

Jet dropped a few batons in CyberPunk's hands. "What's it like out there?"

"Awful, man," she scowled, shaking her head, "talkin' real bad jazz goin' down, y'know?"

"How are Sam and the others?"

"Sam and Quorra made it back to the rendezvous point with Shaddox and the remaining prisoners. Kevin's with them." CyberPunk grunted as she hefted a large box of discs into the plane. "We got some causalities, but from what I heard, ain't so bad, I guess." She paused as Mercury walked past, carrying the two Z-Lot guns in the containment cell. CyberPunk pushed up her visor and widened yellow eyes. She gave an impressive whistle. "Looks like you got hold of some of the real mondo hardware."

"Hopefully we can use them to our advantage," Jet said. He turned to the female Program again. "How's Tron?"

CyberPunk shrugged. "Haven't seen him. But it's so messy out there; couldn't see much of anything. Hence why I sorta made a rather hard landing..."

Jet frowned. He quickly pushed aside his concern. "He's Tron," he said, chuckling, "I'm sure he's just fine."

Kernel turned from his radar. "Hurry it up, scripts!" he shouted. "We got ten corrupts heading our way! You got three kilos!"

Jet sighed and looked to Mercury. "The work of a hero is never done, Jet," she said and dropped another energy bazooka in his arms. "Not until our last stand."

* * *

III

* * *

There were six DataWraiths, each sporting guns loaded with the Z-Lot.

"Who are you?" Wisteria demanded. "Do you work for the Users?"

The DataWraith leader stepped forward, gun aimed at the female Program. "Boss sent us to take care of you," he said.

Wisteria growled. "Your boss won't get very far. My men - "

"Are dead," the DataWraith sneered. "We got to them before they got to Mister Dillinger and Mister Crown. They're back in the real world, now, gettin' ready for the big show."

"The big show?" Tron echoed. "What are they planning?"

The Wraiths all chuckled. "Why," the leader snickered, "announcing himself as the new leader of the Grid, of course."

"What!"

"Are you so surprised? You two were playin' each other like a fiddle. Only Mister Dillinger won. As we say in our world, 'sucks for you'."

"I won't - I refuse to allow that pompous User to take my place," Wisteria hissed. As she went to stand, the Wraith moved in closer. Tron twitched, as if to jump between them, before the Wraith stopped.

"Now, now," the leader snorted, "just stay still. You ain't got no chance in Hell fighting us." He cocked the gun. "Not with these babies."

"What does Edward want with the Grid?"

"What does any man want? Power!" another Wraith laughed.

"And you two happen to be standing in the way," the leader said, fingering the trigger. "Once you're taken care of, we'll finish off the remaining Rebels, as well as your User buddies."

Wisteria narrowed her eyes. "How does Edward think he will win over the loyalty of my army? They don't trust Users. They won't follow him."

"Like I said, he has his ways."

Tron took a step forward. Guns instantly turned on him, and he raised his arms. "Look," he said, and slowly moved to stand in front of Wisteria. "Wisteria's powerless. If you let her go, you can have me. I'm the real threat." Wisteria hissed with disapproval. "Spare her, kill me."

"Why should we?"

"If you let her live, I'll take you to the Rebel base."

The DataWraiths were quiet. The leader looked between his men. They considered it a moment; he turned back to Tron. "We can't trust you. And besides, we've all ready got guards tailing your friends. We don't need you."

"They won't make it. Trust me."

"Doesn't change the fact we can't trust you."

"This is getting nowhere," Wisteria spat. She stood up behind Tron. "You're not providing me with any useful information, so I've no more reason to question you."

Tron grabbed her arm as she stepped around him. "Yori - "

Wisteria pulled herself free and continued toward the group. "Now, do me a favor, and back off," she said. "I tire of this nonsense."

"You tryin' to get killed here?" the leader hissed. He aimed the gun point blank at her head.

"That would imply you're a threat."

The leader growled. "Well, the Z-Lot don't lie, lady." He pulled the trigger. Tron gasped as he leaped forward, pushing Wisteria down alongside him; both missed the blast. Wisteria shoved Tron away as she gathered to her feet, ran at the Wraith leader. He cocked his gun, firing again; this time, hitting her in the shoulder. She grunted as she was tossed back a few feet; her yellow/orange circuits flickered green momentarily, and then she stood upright, sneering at the shocked DataWraiths.

"Buh," the leader babbled, looking at his gun, "yer suppose to be - "

"Guess you didn't get the memo then."

Wisteria snarled as she punched the leader's face, his head jerking aside with a small snap. He flew to the ground. She decked the second Wraith, in the gut, pushing them over. A third Wraith jumped on her; she quickly flipped him over her back and onto the ground. Turned to ram her elbow into the fourth Wraith's face. The fifth scampered back, clumsily shooting the Program in her foot. Wisteria fell back in pain, but quickly made the most of it, throwing up her second foot to undercut the Wraith's chin. The Wraith gasped and fell over, hitting her head hard enough to knock her unconscious and disappear.

Wisteria turned on her knees, ready to get up. Suddenly, she felt a painful blow to her lower back; she fell forward on her belly, face smacking the ground. With a groan, Wisteria slowly propped herself up, cast a weak glare over her shoulder. The DataWraith was right behind her, gun pointed at her head, pulling back on the trigger -

The Wraith shrieked as the disc bisected him in half. Instead of falling into a pile of data, he disappeared with a flash of light. Wisteria looked back; Tron caught his disc, swung his arm back to slice the throat of the recovered, advancing Wraith. She, too, disappeared in a wink of light. Wisteria looked beside her at the low mumble; one of the Wraiths was reaching for his gun. Wisteria jumped to her feet, kicked the gun away then swiftly kicked him in the head

Only two of the DataWraiths remained. The leader fired his gun at Tron. Tron quickly rolled from the blow, tossing his disc and slicing off the Wraith's arm. The man shrieked and fell back. The final Wraith looked at his one-armed boss and, glancing back at Tron and Wisteria, quickly made a run for it.

Wisteria cursed. "No you don't." She reached for her disc, throwing it at the fleeing Wraith. It scalped the top of their head, enough for the Wraith to flash and disappear. Wisteria reached for her disc as it returned -

"Fuckin' bitch!"

The one-armed DataWraith jumped forward, intercepting the disc. Without another word, he squeezed it hard enough to snap. Wisteria shrieked as pain suddenly hit her like a ton of bricks. The DataWraith sunk his fingers into the exposed wiring and codes, tainting it with his viral energy.

"Stop!" Wisteria cried, grabbing and shaking her head. "What are you - !"

Her vision went black. Suddenly, thousands of images poured through Wisteria's mind, playing like a movie on fast forward. Memories she recognized, others she did not, and waves of pain and sorrow rattled her system until the world around her was spinning out of control.

The Wraith had nearly snapped the disc in half. Before he could finish it off, Tron's disc cut off his second arm. The Wraith didn't even have the chance to scream; Tron's second disc cut off his head, and the Wraith disappeared like the rest of his companions. Tron caught one disc at a time, flipped them back together.

Tron quickly picked up Wisteria's disc. The circuits were glitching orange and white, a huge crack down the middle. He winced before he hurried to Wisteria's side. She was on her knees, heaving forward and shaking.

"Yori!" Tron gasped. He fell to his knees in front of her, placing her broken disc in its plug for now. He pulled her against him with his one hand, nuzzling his face in her hair. "Shh, shh, it'll be okay," he whispered over her moaning. He had to get her off the field. Had to get her back to base. Surely the others were waiting on him now. "C'mon," he whispered, giving her a soft tug, "can you stand - ?"

Tron went stiff as the cold barrel of a gun pressed against his ribs. Wisteria slowly sat up, meeting his gaze. He was shocked by what he saw; her blue eyes were brighter than normal, and a vein of data streaked across her right temple. She was still shaking, but kept the gun firm in his side.

"I have to thank you," Wisteria croaked, "for saving my dis- ah!" She grabbed at her head with a painful grimace. Tron went to comfort her, but she gave him another hard nudge with the gun. "Don't touch me."

Tron wanted to cry. Wanted to shake and hold Wisteria. He wanted to make her realize, make her remember who she was. Yori, she was Yori. This wasn't her; Yori was a good, gentle, wonderful person. This Yori who despised and loathed him - Tron felt as if whatever progress he had made was crashing down all over again. He could live with the sins he committed, but to be hated by the only person he ever, truly loved and adored...

Wisteria swayed to her feet, still hunched forward. Her gun pointed at his face. "One shot, just one shot," she murmured, swallowing dryly, "and you're nothing."

"Yor - "

"I wouldn't pull that trigger if I were you."

Wisteria did not turn around; the corners of her agitated frown twitched. From behind her, Sam held his disc to the back of her neck.

"So, how about you put it down?" Sam ordered.

"Sam," Tron said calmly, "don't hurt her."

Sam cocked a brow. "Why not?"

Tron licked his lips. Wisteria still had her gun on him. "She... She won't kill me," he reassured, "and she..."

"You get any closer, User, and I will shoot," Wisteria said lowly. She looked back at Sam from the corner of her eye. "Even if it risks my life, I'll kill him. I've nothing to lose."

"You're lying," Sam stated.

"She is," Tron agreed.

Wisteria rolled her eyes. "I thought one of you was bad enough."

Tron stepped forward, but neither Wisteria or Sam moved. "Put the disc down, Sam," he pleaded, "she won't kill me. She's - "

"If you don't shut up and make your decision," Wisteria hissed, "then I'll make it for you."

Tron shook his head. "Sam... Please," he said softly, "let her go."

"Tron, she'll - "

"She won't kill me."

Sam stared his friend straight in the eyes. He looked so... miserable. Upset. Yet convinced, and sincere. He knew what he was doing. Sam hesitated a moment, studied the back of Wisteria's head. She remained completely in place; he wished he could see her face, however, wished he knew what was going on.

"Try anything," Sam grumbled, withdrawing his disc, "and you won't even make it five feet."

Wisteria, however, kept her gun pointed at Tron.

Tron nodded to the left, toward the city. "Go," he murmured.

Wisteria said nothing, did nothing. Sam looked between them both, ready to use his disc if she did not retreat. For a while, Tron and Wisteria stared at one another in complete silence. Their eyes remained locked; nothing, not the living, breathing, chaotic world around them could step between them. Tron with his single hand down at his side. Wisteria with her gun aimed at his face. Sam, debating stepping in, and yet... He could feel the tension, as if something immense had happened between the two. As if there was a history between them that he could never possibly understand.

After what felt like an eternity, Wisteria lowered the gun. Kept her eyes locked with Tron's. "You'd be wise not to follow me," she growled. Sam stepped aside as the female Program then took off, disappearing into the nearest alley and the shadows of the tall buildings.

Sam slowly turned back to Tron. He frowned. "What happened?" he murmured.

Tron bowed and shook his head. "No time to explain," he said. He looked up, completely masking the hurt and pain with a solemn, professional expression. "Where are the others?"

Sam wanted to press Tron for answers, but knowing his stability... "Everyone's at the rendezvous point. Quorra, my dad, Shaddox, Kernel's team. I hijacked a Recognizer and came to get you." He pointed to the Recognizer hovering nearby, half hidden behind a building. "We're waiting for you."

Tron nodded. "Right," he said, and glanced at his arm missing a hand. He shut his eyes and exhaled. "Right, let's go."

The two then took off, side by side, just narrowly avoiding Rome and eight other guards running onto the scene.

* * *

III

* * *

"We have to go back! We have to get Eva - !"

Edward turned, silencing Seth. The two stood in the fCon basement; Esmond watched from nearby, hesitant to speak. Seth was obviously livid, pacing. Edward remained calm as always, however.

"I had Esmond send more DataWraiths to help her."

"What can they do?" Seth barked. "She needs to be taken out of the Grid this instant!"

"That's not an entirely good idea, Crown."

Seth glowered. "Oh? Why not?"

"I've just been informed that doing so may possibly jeopardize her life."

Seth looked horrified. "What? How?"

"She wouldn't reconfigure currently," Edward explained, arms folding over his chest. He moved to the multiple monitor screens. "It may be impossible all together."

"It's not impossible," Esmond spoke up. The two glanced back at him. He cleared his throat and shuffled to a stand. "The Z-Lot is a virus, after all, and I'm sure if we create an anti-virus program that successfully removes any traces of the Z-Lot abnormalities in Eva's coded DNA -

"An anti-Z-Lot virus," Edward interjected, chuckling. "Never thought I'd need that."

"It's worth a shot."

Edward studied Esmond. Looked to Seth, who seemed all for the idea. He pursed his lips. "All right," he said, "but on one condition." He adjusted his glasses. "The program will only be used on Eva. Once she has been... 'fixed', I want the program destroyed. If Flynn's group got a hold of it, it could mean disaster for all of us."

"What's to say Flynn can't manipulate any Z-Lot in his possession anyway?" Seth countered. "You're good, Dillinger, but Flynn's better."

Edward smiled. "Have a little faith in me, won't you?"

Seth sighed loudly. "Fine. Enough of this. We can deal with this later," he insisted. "We need to take care of Eva now."

Edward turned back to Seth. "Ah, yes, well," he said, "Esmond has the idea. A temporary program that will wipe Eva of her Z-Lot reprogramming should do the trick." He raised a hand before Esmond could speak. "However, you are to present your work to me before you attempt anything." He chuckled. "I mean no offense, but we all seem to be having a few trust issues here lately." He turned his gaze on Seth, who frowned and looked away.

"You don't have to worry about me, boss," Esmond reassured, winking. "I happen to like my job. I won't take any chances if it means losing it."

"Very good."

Esmond headed back to his office, leaving Seth and Edward alone. They shared a moment of silence before Edward approached the portal. "Thorne informs me that the Rebels have retreated, and the guards are outnumbered. I'm going to give the DataWraiths another ten minutes before we call them back. I sent a team of them after Wisteria; if they do not report in by the ten minute mark, then automatically disengage every avatar system." He touched the portal gently. "After that, we regroup. Let the Grid cool a while; let the reality of the situation its people are in really sink in."

"And Eva?"

"Thorne will take care of her," Edward reassured, though he sounded like he could care less. "He's going to use a glitch Esmond mentioned, able to lock a program, even a User, into temporary stasis. Neither here nor there. Supposedly it happened to one of the Wraiths in battle earlier. The process will be painless; she will simply sleep."

Seth felt only slightly comforted. "Then what?"

"Well," Edward said, sniffing and again adjusting his glasses, "we cleaned off the chess board of its old game." He looked into the single eye of the portal digitizer. "So now we set up a new one."

* * *

T/B/C

* * *

A/N:

CyberPunk is a character from Tron 2.0

And Hell yes, next chapter is a breather, swear to God I need the break. %D


	12. Chapter 12

Sorry for the very long wait, but I'm sure some of you are not surprised, heh. Anyway, short, breather chapter.

* * *

Deep in the bowels of Clu's former fortress, the teratoid Eva slept soundly beneath the bars of energy binding her to the cold floor. A protective wall of orange ribbon separated her from the rest of the world, two DataWraiths posted silently at each end.

The doors to the room opened. Quietly, Seth stepped inside, hands behind his back. He took a few more steps before stopping some feet before the prison. "Go," he ordered, voice cold. The DataWraiths said nothing, left as commanded, though somewhat hesitantly. Once alone, Seth moved closer to the energy wall, its vibrating hum filling his ears.

For a minute or two, Seth stared and studied Eva's monstrous form. She did not stir, her mutated face void of emotion.

"I'm sorry."

Slowly, Seth placed a hand against the energy wall. To anyone else, it might have burned, but it was of his own creation. The disc on his back glowed a pale red. "Esmond informs me that you're currently in an idle state. Neither here nor there; floating chained in the Matrix. One of his Wraiths experienced this idling state in battle earlier." He bowed his head. "I suppose this is good. It's better than being awake. Though I wish for nothing more than to bring you home, I've been informed the reconfiguration would..." He trailed off, his hand drawing back from the wall.

"Esmond is currently hard at work creating an anti-virus that should return you to your formal state," he continued, inhaling. "The plan is to remove the corrupted, foreign coding from your system. He said there was a chance... that... You may never completely..." Seth turned, pinching the bridge of his nose; he whipped back to face the wall, growling angrily, "This wasn't suppose to happen. The Z-Lot shouldn't have done this. It shouldn't have any affect on Users!

"I'm not sure who is responsible. Wisteria or Dillinger. But whatever they used on you... It was different. Something special." He narrowed his eyes. "You may have respected Dillinger, but I know... I've known for a while now he's been keeping secrets. He must have known what would happen if a User was infected with his own personal Z-Lot. One he didn't bother to share with the rest of us," he spat. "Sooner or later, he's going to show his true colors. And we'll just be thrown aside like garbage. Hell, he might even kill us! But I..." He clenched a fist, leather squeaking. "I won't let that happen. Not to you, not to me - not to Future Control Industries. We've worked too hard for some upstart little _brat_ to ruin everything. He underestimates us..."

Seth went quiet again. "You may... not like what I'm about to do. I know you said it was only to be used as a last resort, but given the times... Who can we trust but ourselves?" He laughed wearily. "I'm not sure I even trust Esmond anymore. He's grown rather attached to Dillinger. But I have to believe he'll save you. And if he doesn't,_ I will_."

He turned. "I'm sorry for tampering with your program. I know it's important to you. However, I needed to make sure the energy fluctuations would remain off the radar. Even Dillinger's. I've only released a small horde - ten at most. They'll be more successful locating the Rebels' base compared to Esmond's Wraiths. And combined with our own expert coding, they're a force to be reckoned with."

Seth removed his disc, a small hologram popping open to obscure his face. A large worm-like creature emerged from underground, its gaping mawl equipped with four piercing talons. "The virus I've infused into your Seekers is something I like to call Z-Lot Lite. It has the same effects, though the time of death takes a bit longer than ordinary Z-Lot." He smirked, though there was no amusement. "All that matters is the unbearable pain remains intact, ensuring a slow, torturous demise."

* * *

III

* * *

The Rebels arrived back at Divide an hour later.

A storm had temporarily disabled one of their ships, nearly costing a crash. However, with Jet's help, it remained steady enough to finish its journey. After everyone unloaded from the ships, Kernel turned to face his men, the Users at the front. "Trixie, Micro - do a quick surveillance of the land. Make sure we weren't followed." Two of the Programs quickly dispatched from the group, heading into the stormy badlands. "The rest of you - take the wounded to the infirmary. Those suffering from serious injury..." His red eyes turned to the Users. "Follow me."

Kernel, Mercury, Jet, Quorra, Sam, Shaddox, and ten others followed Kernel inside. Kevin halted after taking two steps. He turned, staring at Tron's back. The security Program had been completely silent on the trip back to Divide. His solemn stare locked on his damaged arm.

"Tron?" Kevin murmured. He approached Tron, stood beside him. Once more, Tron's gaze was somewhere far away. There was a sadness, however, that Kevin easily recognized. Loss. Reserved only for loved ones past. He thought of Jordan for a moment - her smile, the way she laughed - then quickly turned back to Tron. "Suppose you don't want to talk about what happened. And I suppose you want to spend some time alone." He nudged Tron's arm. "But we gotta get that fixed up, buddy."

Tron remained unresponsive a few seconds. His dark eyes fell back on Kevin. "Wisteria," he croaked, swallowing hard. "It's her."

"Who?"

"Yori," Tron said, closing his eyes, "she's Yori."

* * *

III

* * *

"We hit the jackpot!"

Jet, Mercury, and five other Programs quickly dumped their stolen treasures out on the light tables. Everyone marveled, beaming ear to ear, at the dozens upon dozens of weapons. They moved forward, quickly snatching up whatever they could get their hands on.

Sam clapped Jet on the shoulder. "You did good, Jet," he said, smiling.

Jet smirked. "Wasn't easy," he confessed. He nodded to Mercury, speaking with Quorra. "Thanks to her, I'm still in one piece."

Sam smiled at the bright blue Program. He glanced back, just in time to see Jet avert his gaze. "... Well, whatta know," he sneered, grinning all his teeth. "Looks like you've found the One."

"Nah," Jet chortled, shrugging. He couldn't look Sam in the face. "She's just... She's really cool and all, but she's... Well, she's not exactly human, you know?" He shook his head. "Besides, we're just friends. That's all."

"Yeah, so says your goofy lovesick smile and doey eyes."

"Shut up, man."

Mercury glanced a look back. She smiled at Jet, lashes fluttering as she turned to Quorra again. Sam nudged his friend in the arm. "Seems she thinks differently," he muttered.

Jet shoved Sam away.

A moment later, the two women joined their comrades. "Mercury tells me you have the recovered Z-Lot stashed away," Quorra said.

"Yeah," Jet replied. "We brought it upstairs. Figured we'd keep it under wraps until Kevin and the others looked it over."

Quorra bit her lip, looked away then back to Jet. "Do you think Kevin might be able to manipulate the virus? If we had control over it, we'd be more than even with fCon and the others."

"My dad's a genius," Sam reassured, "it'll be a cake walk."

Mercury stepped forward. "You two should get to the infirmary. Got a couple Programs who could use your User magic," she said, nodding to Sam and Jet.

"Right." Sam looked to Quorra. "Care to join me?"

Quorra nodded. "Probably could use some help."

Jet and Mercury watched as the two headed off, walking closely side by side. Jet rolled his eyes as their hands barely brushed.

"Well, what are you waiting for, mister?"

Jet blinked and turned to Mercury. "Ah, right," he snorted. He saluted. "I leave you to deliver the Z-Lot to Kernel and Kevin then."

Mercury tilted her head. "Roger." A second later, she raised her hand in a salute - however, her fingers were below her eye.

Jet snorted, trying not to laugh. "Close," he said, and guided her hand up to her brow.

"Oh," the Program murmured, smiling crookedly, "I see."

Though Jet should have let her hand go, his fingers lingered. They stared at one another for a few seconds, completely silent.

The low whistle caught their attention. The two DJs from End of Line stood nearby. Hearts lit up and flashed on their visors. "Cut it out," Jet scowled, just as one of them started humming something akin to a love song.

Mercury laughed. "Have fun," she said, brushing past Jet and between the two DJs. They watched her leave, then turned back to Jet. Smiley faces with hearts for eyes scrolled along their glowing visors.

Jet sighed and dropped his face in his hands.

* * *

III

* * *

"Yori!?"

Kernel blanched, his eyes wide with shock and disbelief. Tron said nothing as Kevin went about reprogramming him a new hand.

"You can't be serious," Kernel said a second later. "She was derezzed!"

Tron looked up, frowning. "Did you actually see her die?"

Kernel blinked. "No..." he murmured, hands behind his back. "But... Why?"

"Yori was - is brilliant," Kevin explained, knitting coding. "At the time, Clu's army was still growing. He needed all the help he could get. And a bright young engineer was too good to pass up."

"So he reformatted her," Tron growled, his single hand clenching into a tight fist. "Just like... Just like he did me."

"Take it easy, buddy."

"If Yori was reformatted," Kernel mused, "then... What about Ram? The others we thought perished?"

"It's possible."

Tron swallowed. "Or maybe during battle, we..."

"We couldn't have known, Tron," Kevin murmured.

"If we could only access her disc, we could uncover - "

"You're talking as if she's just another enemy troop," Tron interjected sharply. "Yori... She's messed up right now. She's been hurt. Sooner or later... Sooner or later, she's bound to see the truth."

"She's been Wisteria for thousands of cycles, Tron," Kernel said. "Are you sure it will be so easy?"

Tron grit his teeth. "She's smart. And with her disc and coding damaged, she'll need to dig." He calmed a little. "I know... I know I hit something. Neither of us - when we had each other right where we wanted, neither of us could deliver the killing blow. I know she sensed our connection. I reached through to her. Through a tiny sliver, I know, but I did."

"Let us hope she comes to her senses then," Kernel said. "If not and she still presents a threat, then we will have to take care of her. Derezz her if necessary." Though he expected Tron to yell, the security Program was quiet.

Kevin waved a hand and scowled. "Bad mojo, Kern."

"Face reality, Flynn."

Kevin guffawed. Before Kernel could berate him, he settled and added, "I know. I understand. We have to do whatever's necessary to protect the Grid and her people." His frown twitched. "I failed the last time, but it won't happen again."

"Knock knock! Delivery."

Everyone looked to the door, just as Mercury stepped inside. She carried a few of the cubes containing the Z-Lot loaded guns. "We didn't want to touch them, in fear of a reaction or defense mechanism," she explained, depositing the containers on the nearby oval table.

Kevin quickly finished repairing Tron's hand. "I'll take a look at them in a minute," he said. He looked to Kernel. "Call in the next patient."

Tron gathered to his feet as another heavily wounded Program huddled inside, sitting before Kevin with restrained awe on his face. "Judging the affects of the Z-Lot," he said, "this is perhaps one of the worst viruses I've ever come across."

Mercury's smile wilted. "That can't be good."

"We've got Flynn," Tron reassured, though he still sounded tired. "Sam and his friend, Jet, as well."

"That's what we're all betting on," Kernel added.

Kevin wanted to tell them to have faith. To believe in him. Yet, given his past failures... He went back to his repairs, speaking solemnly, "We'll figure something out."

Tron silently headed for the door. Before he could leave, Kernel's heavy hand was on his shoulder. "Where are you going?" he demanded. However, there was slight concern in his gruff tone.

Tron kept his back to the massive Program. "I'm not going to chase down Yori, if that's what you're thinking," he replied.

Kernel said nothing. Tron had been right. He slowly drew back his hand, and let him go.

After patching up a few more injuries, Kevin finally stood and moved to the table. "Guns, huh? Getting more modern, I see." He carefully opened one of the containers. Mercury stepped back as he slowly removed the weapon. They waited a moment, and then Kevin smiled. "Think we're safe. It's what's inside that counts."

Kevin carefully opened the gun's magazine, removed a single glowing orange bullet. He held it up, squinting as he studied it. "It'd be nice if it came with an instructor's manual," he said a moment later. He looked to his comrades. "I'm going to need Jet. I can't... I can't exactly break down the coding by myself."

"Why not Sam?"

Kevin bowed his head. "... You know why."

Mercury frowned. "You don't want him to know what happened at Genesis."

"You haven't told him yet?" Kernel huffed.

"No," Kevin murmured. "Now is not the time. I don't think he'd take the news very well." He shook his head. "This bullet - this virus - it's like anything else on the Grid. Made completely of coding; numbers, letters, ones and zeroes galore. Given Jet's - our - power as Users, we can easily break open this puppy and access the coding. Find a way to destroy it, or neutralize the effects."

Mercury leaned in toward Kernel and whispered, "What does he mean by 'puppy'?"

"I don't know," Kernel grumbled, "just humor him."

"Yo, guys? I can hear you, you know." He nodded to Mercury. "May I speak to Kernel alone?"

Mercury was hesitant, but nodded. "Right. Call me if you need me," she said. A moment later, she was gone, and the room was eeriely quiet.

"Hey, Kernel."

Kernel looked back at Kevin, sitting at the table. "Yes?" he replied.

"You mentioned the Z-Lot mutated a User once they were exposed to the virus."

"Yes."

"The truth is, I all ready managed to hack and disable the first line of defensive coding."

Kernel widened his eyes. "Why did you not say anything?"

Kevin shook his head. "This virus... is a lot more complicated than I thought. From what I gathered, we'll have to hack through ten more lines, each more difficult than the rest. In fact, part of the reason it was so simple to break through was due on part to issue a warning." He showed the Program the bullet. "The failsafe will trigger an explosive reaction. And I'm not sure if it's because I've been changed, but I know working around it will be nearly impossible. I'd say we'd have a 32% chance of disabling the trigger." He looked at the bullet. "It seems we've grossly underestimated our enemy."

"Well, then, what can we do?" Kernel demanded, hands curling into fists.

"Everything," Kevin insisted, firmly, "has an Achilles's Heel. A weakness. We may not be able to completely destroy or reprogram the Z-Lot, but that doesn't mean we can't fight fire with fire." He sneered. "We just have to find a match first."

* * *

III

* * *

The storm across the Outlands should have reached TRON City by now.

Teleos, according to new rule.

Though Tron highly doubted Wisteria's rules still applied. The place was probably crawling with fCon's lackeys now. Hunting down stray rebels, reprogramming soldiers and innocents. It made something inside Tron twist and ache with disgust, and every strand of coding in his body wanted him to run. Run back to the city and finish everything.

To find, and rescue Yori.

The thunder rumbled in Tron's ears, though he barely heard it. He sat on the edge of the rooftop to the highest tower in Divide. Watching the storm pass them and move farther toward the city. Trixie, Micro, and six others continued roaming the area, keeping a look out for intruders. He spotted I-No conversing with a Program, a smile on his old face; the poor Guardian must have been lonely all by himself for so many years.

Tron removed the disc from its plug on his back. He studied the blue lines, glowing faintly. "Did Kevin send you?" he asked quietly a second later.

"No."

Tron listened to her footfalls until Quorra was beside him. She leaned forward, folded her arms over the edge. A stray breeze fluttered dark hair against her cheeks. "It seems like a day hasn't gone by without a storm since I return," she noted.

"Ominous, I guess."

"I dunno. Maybe," Quorra said and shrugged. "But after the storm... Everything is bright and beautiful." She glanced to Tron. "Don't you think?"

Tron didn't know what to say. "Only sometimes." He paused a beat, then finally met Quorra's gaze. "You're not angry with me, and I don't understand."

"How do you mean?"

Tron closed his eyes. "After what I did as Rinzler... I'm sure I took many of your friends' lives. Caused you great pain and grief."

"It wasn't you, Tron," Quorra murmured. "And... I'd be lying if I said I wasn't just a little upset." She lowered her gaze. "When you first returned online, when you told us you couldn't remember anything... I was angry. How dare you, I thought. How dare you not remember what you did."

Tron said nothing, listening.

"And I wanted to slap you, and tell you everything you did. I wanted to see that look of guilt on your face. I wanted you to suffer. But then I..." She sat upright. "Then I saw your face - your scarred face, before Kevin repaired it. The look in your eyes - I felt like I did that day I realized I was the last of my kind. That I was truly alone." She met Tron's gaze, her eyes glistening. "Whatever anger I had for you was gone instantly afterward. I realized that it wasn't your fault. And if I were to keep on blaming you, keep on believing you were responsible for what Clu did to you, I'd only keep feeling that terrible pain, that horrible loss. That I'd only be hurting both you and myself."

Tron studied her pale face. "You are mature beyond your years, Quorra," he said, "and perhaps you are the most bravest of people I have the fortune of knowing."

Quorra smirked. "Well, I don't know about that." She tilted her head. "You're still struggling, Tron. You've got a storm raging inside you ten times worse than anything out here. And... It's eating away at you. I know you've regained some of your strength and confidence, but you're still... pushing yourself. Sometimes a little too hard."

"Can you blame me?" Tron chortled.

"No," the ISO replied, "but I can hope you'll understand what I'm saying."

Tron clutched his disc tightly. "When my memories of Rinzler return, Quorra," he murmured, and paused, "I'm not sure... if I could handle it."

"You'll have us to help you through the process. You're strong, Tron. You're still a hero to many of us."

"I'm no hero."

"Heroes have weaknesses, too," Quorra pressed. "And heroes have their moments of crises. They fall, but heroes - they always get back up. Kevin, Sam, even you." She smiled. "We're not programmed to be perfect."

"No, I suppose not," Tron replied. He looked back to the passing storm. "However, even if I fail, even if I always remain broken, I will not stop fighting. And right now, there's more than my desire to make amends with the world I've betrayed keeping me going."

Quorra stared a moment. "Yori."

Tron frowned. "I'm not giving up on her," he said, firmly. "Kernel says she may never come to her senses. That we may have to derezz her. But..." He turned his fierce eyes to the ISO, and she felt a shiver run down her spine. "I'll die trying, if I must, saving her. I believe I've gotten through to her, and I believe I can bring her back."

Quorra studied the security Program, radiating with both sadness, anger, and pure, raw determination. "I believe you," she said, and he almost looked surprise. "I believe you can save Yori, Tron. And... I'll help you. We'll help you."

"It may be hard for the others to forgive and accept her," Tron said, "but if I deserve a second chance, so does Yori."

Quorra nodded.

For a while, they stood together in silence, listening to the fading thunder.

"What was it like?"

Quorra perked up. "Hmm?"

Tron looked to her. "Reality. The User world." A beat. "What is it like?"

Quorra thought a moment. "It... It's indescribable," she answered. "It's so different, and yet we share so many of the same qualities. It's... amazing."

Tron smiled. "I think I'd like to visit that world one day."

"I'm sure Kevin and Sam will be happy to have you," Quorra replied, smiling. It faded, just a little. "Though, sometimes... Sometimes I do feel a little out of place. Because I'm... I'm not a User. I'm not human. And I don't think I ever will be."

"There is nothing wrong with that."

"No," Quorra agreed, touching her shoulder, "and I've been told I'm a breakthrough in science, that the User world may change entirely because of my coding alone... But..."

Tron placed his disc back in its plug. "You're reminded of your time here. Before Sam arrived, and Clu was in power," he said. "When you became the last ISO."

Quorra faintly nodded. "Though..." she muttered a second later, and Tron looked at her. "I think that may no longer be the case..."

"How do you mean?"

"I'm not sure, really," Quorra replied, "but something happened at Genesis. Something... inexplicable. And I think it was only the beginning."

* * *

III

* * *

Teleos was crawling with DataWraiths.

Edward had taken control of the city. Any and every Program in his possession quickly undergoing reprogramming. Soon, Wisteria's entire army would become his loyal, mindless slaves. The Wraiths took everyone prisoner, even innocent bystanders. They wrecked through buildings and streets, constantly on patrol.

Wisteria knew once TRON City was under Edward's thumb, he'd move on to conquer the rest of the Grid. One city at a time.

"Frag."

Wisteria cursed as she crashed against the wall, cradling her head. Once the pain subsided, she slowly sat down beside the window. She'd been hiding for hours now, like some damned coward. Not that she was in any condition to fight.

Wisteria opened the interface panel of her disc. She scowled at all the damaged coding. Her viral shields were weakening. Soon, she'd stand no chance against the Z-Lot. Whatever the DataWraith did to her disc was slowly eating away through her coding. The pain was increasing; before, it came between three to four minute intervals. Now the time between was dwindling. A migraine was forming at her temples, and her entire body felt too hot.

She had tried repairing the broken coding, but there was only so much she could do. She was a skilled engineer, but she was still a Program. Only Users could undo all this damage. The superficial wounds had been taken care of, but the ache remained.

Wisteria slowly traced a finger down the gouge in her disc. She paused half-way, noticing something. From the tear in her glove she could see a faint yellow. Yanking it off, she choked on shock. Thin venous lines ran down the length of her pallor flesh. Decaying coding. She was derezzing, bit by bit.

Wisteria's vision blurred, her head reeling. She sunk back against the wall, chest heaving.

Five more hours, she estimated, before she'd finally succumb to her wounds.

She sat there for a few minutes, thinking back on everything. Wisteria knew from the start the Users would eventually turn on her. She prepared herself, however; she waited. In the end, she survived, but lost everything. Her teeth grit as she thought of Malvir; she didn't expect that, no. Wisteria knew he didn't trust the Users, didn't agree with most of her decisions, but she never believed for a moment he would turn on her. To do something so _stupid._

Yet, he was alive. He had his own army, small as it was. He was unscathed Wisteria snickered, bitterly. At least she wasn't a coward. Malvir - the dirty, treacherous coward. He should be the one suffering and dying slowly.

Yet... He was alive. And she was dying.

_Is your pride worth your life?_

Wisteria slowly opened her pale, tired eyes. She listened to the rain outside her window, pouring down fierce and hard.

_If you cannot have power, you can have revenge._

It hurt. More than the physical pain tearing her apart. More than the loss of her crown and kingdom. It hurt to do this, but she knew... She knew it couldn't end like this.

Wisteria opened her interface panel again. She bowed her head, closed her eyes, and concentrated.

_You claim we share an intimate bond. If so, then you can hear this message. Even with distance between us, you hear me. If what you say is indeed true. This may be futile in the end, but it is one of my remaining, last resorts._

_What you have told me I still do not believe. I am not asking for your companionship. I am not asking for an alliance._

_I am asking, however, for a temporary truce._

_I need... a User. You have plenty to spare. I need repairs made that I cannot mend myself. You need answers. You need explanations. You need a way to defend yourself from the Z-Lot. Take me to one of your Users. Repair me. And in return, I will share with you what I know._

_Is it a deal, Tron?_


End file.
